Apples to Apples
by JacksBoonie
Summary: CainAmbrose slash. Ambrose's inventions have a way of getting Cain into trouble...
1. The Event

AN: Hello, Kats and Kittens! How're things? Well, this is my second Tin Man fic, and I'm really excited that it's not a one shot! In fact, I'm almost finished writing it. This is the fastest I've ever written anything, and I'm really proud of it so . . . go gentle on my hopes and dreams, eh? Well, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the television miniseries _Tin Man. _I do not own the characters of the television miniseries _Tin Man. _

_Apples to Apples _

_Chapter One: The Event_

Glitch – or Ambrose, rather – was locked away in his lab again, and under the persistent (and somewhat annoying) insistence of the queen and DG, Cain was stalking down the corridor to drag the inventor to yet another mid-day meal that had seemed to "slip his mind." Passing servants ducked their heads and avoided eye contact as he passed, his clenched teeth and snarling lips a sure sign that he did not want to be bothered.

"Glitch!" He yelled rather harshly as he entered the man's laboratory without knocking. "This is the last time I'm going to-" Cain cut off abruptly, halting mid-stride as his jaw hung slack and his neck craned uncomfortably.

On a raised platform backed against the farthest wall of Ambrose's lab stood a massive, domed machine, glinting as streams of sunlight filtered through the tall windows. Cogs and wires and things that Cain had never seen before were strewn about the floor, covering nearly every inch of the polished wood. Puffs of steam were regurgitated towards the ceiling from a curved pipe at the very top of the dome, coating the top half of the room in a dense fog.

Several sparks flew from one end of the contraption, and the tin man's attention was quickly averted towards it, finding the inventor himself bent over a complicated-looking panel. In his hand he clutched an object, from which the sparks were emanating – something akin to a blowtorch – and his face was covered with a square, metallic mask that had a small, glass-plated opening so that he could see.

Cain composed himself, remembering why he had been forced to find the man in the first place and recovering some of the anger that had melted away. He marched forward, ignoring the objects crunching beneath his boots.

"Glitch!" He yelled again, still unable to get the man's attention. He growled and made his way up the platform steps, stopping just far enough away so that he was out of reach of the sparks still flying into the air. Putting a hand up to shield his eyes, he inhaled deeply and bellowed, "_Glitch_!"

Finally, the sparks ceased, and a metal-masked face turned in his direction. Cain huffed in relief. His next step would have been throwing things at the adviser, and, as tempting as that was, he wouldn't want to startle the man into an accident . . . at least not on purpose.

Cain watched the other man straighten to his full height – which was actually almost a full inch taller than Glitch; not that Ambrose had grown any, but with the way he held himself it was almost a wonder how the head case's spine had withstood all that slouching – and lift the mask up to reveal an oil-smudged face. The tin man took in the other's entire appearance – the disheveled hair and clothing, the rolled-up sleeves, the cuts and nicks on his fingers and hands and arms. It was a very different side of the man that Cain had not imagined. He'd figured Ambrose for the designing type, the kind of person who made the plans then sat back and watched while others built his inventions. However, the sight before him seemed to display evidence to the contrary.

The inventor's eyebrows rose in question. "Mister Cain? Is there something I can help you with?"

Cain grit his teeth. He hated when the other man called him that. It only served as a painful reminder that Glitch was no longer the carefree, somewhat confused friend they had once traveled the O.Z. with. He was a stranger and someone that Cain had no intention of getting to know.

The tin man crossed his arms and glared at the adviser. "Lunch," he said simply, watching the other's face contort with confusion.

"Lunch?" He asked softly, extracting his pocket watch and glancing at it briefly. His eyebrows rose again. "Oh. I hadn't noticed."

Cain rolled his eyes. "What a surprise. Can we go, please?"

Ambrose shook his head absently and placed the watch back in his vest pocket, heading down the stairs towards the lower level. "There are too many calculations. If I stop now, I might forget and have to start over again."

And therein lay the problem. Ambrose's underlying fear was forgetting – so much so that he pushed himself far beyond his limits and ultimately drove himself to exhaustion. His friends had understood the first month or two, gently cautioning him and suggesting he take is easy. Now – almost seven months after the head case's rebrainment – his skipping meals and avoiding sleep until passing out over his work table was something to be expected. They still attempted to keep him involved in as many family and friend functions as possible. They'd even planned a ball for the following week in honor of the O.Z. finally falling into a state of ease as things slowly returned to normal.

The ball was, of course, on the bottom of Ambrose's list of importance, not even the enticement of dancing to his heart's content able to peak his interest. His only reaction had been a polite smile and an inattentive "Oh, well that should be fun" before returning to his work.

"Glitch," Cain said in a warning tone, turning to follow the man as he wandered off towards his desk.

The adviser sighed, leaning over several blueprints and scanning them with a frown. "Mister Cain, I've asked you repeatedly to _please _call me Ambrose."

"And I've told you to quit calling me 'Mister Cain,'" the tin man countered, walking up right behind the man and forcing him around. Ambrose was startled, both by the sudden gesture and by Cain's proximity, and his eyes widened. He swallowed hard, his breath stuck in his throat. Cain realized their position as well – his fingers gripping the other man's upper arms and standing almost flush against him so that the adviser was forced to lean backward over his desk, palms flat on the smooth surface – and immediately released him, stepping back and clearing his throat.

"The queen and DG are waiting for us."

Ambrose sucked a deep breath into his deprived lungs, quickly pulling himself together and standing straight. "I don't think any major travesties will occur if the queen and the princess are forced to wait a few more moments," he said, turning back to the blue prints and leaning over them. His cheeks burned a light red as his mouth went dry, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to rid himself of the strange feeling.

"You obviously don't remember DG very well," the tin man smirked, his eyes wandering, once again, to the large machine on the platform above them. And even though he knew he would regret asking – oh boy, would he – his curiosity got the best of him. "So . . . What is this thing?"

Ambrose took a moment to respond, turning back towards the man with a blank look. He probably was not asked that question very often, as most people knew he had a tendency to ramble on for hours at a time. But the sudden shine that took the inventor's eyes and the smile that spread across his face was more than worth the tiresome lecture to come . . . at least Cain hoped so.

"It's a CDMTU," Ambrose began, receiving a pointed look from the tin man. "A Cell-Diffusing Mass Transit Unit."

Cain's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "A transporter?"

Ambrose nodded excitedly. "Precisely!" He grabbed the sleeve of Cain's coat, pulling him up the stairs and towards the machine. "It's able to transport anyone to anywhere at anytime. It's large enough to transport more than two-dozen people at a time – or even small vehicles – and accurate enough to send several people to different destinations at once." The adviser pressed a button on a small keypad, and a hidden door slid open, Ambrose pulling his captive inside before any protests could be made.

Cain looked up as they entered. It certainly looked bigger from the inside, the dome creating more space. The adviser was right; a decent amount of people could fit into the expanse.

Ambrose continued to talk, his voice reverberating off of the walls and echoing back at them. "DG was my inspiration, always complaining about having to ride the storms between here and the other side." He released Cain's coat, jogging to the center and spinning around with his arms stretched wide – a purely Glitch gesture. "Can you imagine it, Mister Cain? Having one of these in Central City would change everything! One push of a button and you can be . . . _anywhere_."

"It'd . . . be convenient, I s'pose," Cain said with a shrug. He was a countryman through and through. He liked taking his time getting to places – when leisure allowed for it, of course. He liked catching his own food and making camp and sleeping under a veil of stars. Ambrose's machine was, indeed, convenient, but it was still just a machine; something bigger and faster that took the simple pleasures out of life.

Ambrose chose that point to turn to the tin man, gaging his skeptical look as he glanced around the chamber. "You don't like it," he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Cain turned to him with a sympathetic smile.

"Well, it isn't me you have to impress, head case."

_Oh, but it is, _Ambrose thought, nodding and starting in the direction of the door.

Suddenly, there was a loud whirring noise, and both men covered their ears as it reached a deafening tone.

"What's happening?" Cain shouted, finding the inventor's face just as confused and frightened as he assumed his must be.

"I don't know!" Ambrose returned with a shake of his head. "It shouldn't be functional yet! It's probably just-"

The door slid shut, and both men gasped as they began to lift into the air, the gravitational pull shifting. Cain threw his arms out to try and steady himself but to no avail. The last thing he saw before a bright light swallowed them whole was the adviser's terror-filled eyes, and the only thing he wanted to do in that instant was take his friend's hand and tell him they would be all right.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, how was it? Think I should keep going? Later, Gators! I'm off to post this on LJ. Catch you on the flip side. :)


	2. Night the First

AN: Hello, Kats and Kittens! How're things? Well, I hope. Anyway, I certainly hope you like this next one. :)

_Chapter Two: Night the First_

"Mister Cain?"

The tin man was pulled into consciousness by an urgent pressure on his side followed by a huff and a wheeze. He groaned, opening his eyes slightly and hissing when they burned painfully.

"Glitch?" He mumbled, feeling something shift beneath him.

"Mister Cain, you're crushing me," came a disgruntled voice and another wheezing breath. Cain used what little strength he had to push himself up into a sitting position, grasping the figure beneath him as the other man sat up as well and took a much-needed breath.

"Thank you," Ambrose sighed with relief, aware that Cain's hand was still tightly clenched around his arm and his eyes were screwed shut. "It'll take just a moment for your eyes to readjust. That light that flashed just before we transported was-"

"What?" Cain interrupted harshly, pushing past the pain and squinting his eyes to glare at the inventor. "What do you mean 'transported'? Transported where?"

"Uh," the adviser faltered, wincing as the tin man's grip only tightened. "I-I'm afraid I don't know. It still . . . _seems _like the O.Z." Cain listened in the pause that followed o the ruffle of the man's clothing as he twisted around slightly. "There are two suns, I'm pretty sure, so we must be in . . . The other side doesn't have two suns, does it? No, I don't think so, not unless-"

Cain sighed, tired of the incoherent ramble already but happy to know that they were at least still in the O.Z. The tin man could get them back to the palace from practically anywhere in the Outer Zone.

"Glitch," he stopped the other from continuing, "let's just . . . stand up nice and slow, all right? Get our bearings so we know which way we're headed."

With some difficulty, the two managed to stand, Cain leaning on Ambrose a little more than he would have liked but his vision clearing more and more with every passing second. At last, when only a few dark spots danced in front of his eyes, he glanced around.

"Oh no," he moaned, turning in dismay.

"What? You know where we are?" Ambrose asked quietly, not liking the look on the other's face as the tin man pulled away from him.

"Unfortunately," Cain ground out, limping on a leg that had fallen asleep. "We're on the outskirts – dangerous territory." He shot an accusing glare at the inventor. "If your machine had spit us any further, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ambrose shuddered. He, like many others, had heard the stories when he was younger – the myths about the monsters that lived beyond the outskirts in the eternal darkness . . . the darkness that the witch had nearly brought to the O.Z. He wrapped his arms around himself as a chill ran through him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mister Cain," he scolded half-heartedly, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought it was. "Superstitious nonsense. Tales told around campfires to scare children."

Cain snorted, rubbing at his tingling leg. "Not all campfire stories are false, Glitch."

"Ambrose," the other man whispered without any real conviction. "My name is Ambrose . . . How far are we from the palace?"

Cain sighed, glancing up at the forest that was nearly blocking out the two suns. "I'd say it's a good week's trek, at least. I've never been this far without a horse, so I don't know for sure."

"A week?" Ambrose inquired feebly, the extended time with the other man worrying him more than the actual journey back to the palace.

"We'd best get moving." Cain glanced behind them fleetingly. "We want to be as far from that border as possible before the suns set."

The inventor nodded in agreement, sparing a quick look in the same direction before following the tin man through the dense woodland.

0 o 0 o 0

"Glitch, I don't think that's such a good idea."

Ambrose sighed, rolling his eyes as he continued to stalk toward a nearby apple orchard. He was not at all sure who it belonged to, but he could feel the magic radiating from it – a protective spell, no doubt, to keep thieves from sneaking off with any precious apples. Getting _anything _from the enchanted trees was going to take some serious smarts, and the inventor wasn't anything if not smart now that his marbles were in the right place.

"For the last time, Mister Cain," he said with annoyance, "my name is Ambrose. Is that so difficult to remember?"

"Only if it's too difficult to stop calling me 'Mister Cain,'" the tin man complained, shaking his head as Ambrose halted just outside the orchard grounds. "What are you doing?"

"Getting us some apples," the other replied matter-of-factly, placing his hands on his hips as the corners of his mouth turned downward in a contemplative frown.

Cain cocked an eyebrow. "How is it you plan on getting apples from an enchanted orchard?"

"All in good time, Sir," was the only answer. Ambrose turned on his heels, searching the ground with narrowed eyes. When he spotted the desired object, he reached down and snatched it, tossing it upwards a couple of times to get a good feel for it.

"A rock?" Cain asked incredulously. "You're getting us apples with a rock?"

Ambrose merely smirked. But this was no ordinary smirk. This was a smirk that Cain had seen dozens of times on their adventures with DG and Raw. This smirk was almost always dangerous and almost always a certainty of trouble. This smirk was an inner-channeling of Glitch himself. And Cain could almost swear that in the twilight of the two setting suns he was seeing his old friend standing there and defying regulations like it was just another day – just another adventure.

Ambrose turned, then, and hurled the rock into the orchard with all the grace and precision he had acquired in his years of service to the queen. The rock sailed – further than Cain himself might have been able to throw – and bounced off one of the nearest trees. The two men stood perfectly still, holding their breath. When nothing happened, Cain released the air in his lungs in an aggravated gust.

"Nice try," he shrugged, beginning to turn, but Ambrose stood his ground, cupping his hands over his mouth and beginning to shout into the orchard.

"Hey, ugly!" The tree in question's leaves seemed to bristle, and the entire thing tilted questioningly. "Yea, you, bark for brains! Whatcha got growing there? Crabapples?" The tree straightened, suddenly, looking almost taller then it had before. A few trees beside it began to shudder awake as well.

Cain watched the scene in awe. He'd seen very little _real _magic in his lifetime – other than that of DG and the mystic man, of course – but this was certainly not something he'd ever dreamed possible.

Ambrose turned to him with a pointed look. "Are you going to help me get dinner or just stand there and gawk?" Cain raised an eyebrow in curiosity, and the inventor rolled his eyes. "Those apples aren't going to throw themselves at us, Mister Cain."

The tin man scowled, stepping up next to the other and staring out over the shivering orchard.

"Hey!" He called, and the trees stiffened, seeming to turn in his direction. "What are ya? A bunch of wilting ferns? I've seen greener leaves on old, twisted grandmother oaks!"

Cain was startled when the first apple sailed only inches from the side of his head, taking a step back and watching the object bounce off the ground a couple of times before rolling to a stop.

"Very good, Mister Cain," Ambrose complimented with raised eyebrows and the semblance of a smile. The tin man would have growled had more apples not been launched toward them. He turned back to the trees, only to be hit square in the nose by a rather large, shiny apple.

"Oh, that one looks delicious!" The adviser commented, reaching for it and just barely missing an apple aimed straight at his own head. Cain held his nose for a minute, rubbing at it as his eyes watered uncontrollably.

"Son of a . . ." His vision cleared, and he looked out over the orchard, watching as disturbingly gnarled, hand-like branches plucked apples from behind leaves and lobbed them at the two men. Ambrose was catching quite a few, placing them in the make-shift cradle he'd made with his shirt by folding the bottom of it up towards his stomach. Cain removed his hat, catching a few apples and using it to hold them.

Ambrose let loose a hearty laugh, catching and dodging and generally using the grace and skill he exerted when fighting. He turned towards Cain, then, the smile on his face only growing wider.

"Having fun, Cain?" It was perhaps the first carefree phrase the tin man had heard from the adviser since having first encountered him with his newly-acquired brain, giving Cain hope that his friend was not quite as gone as he'd thought.

Suddenly, the blond man noticed an apple heading for the inventor's head at an alarming speed. Cain's eyes widened as he put a hand out and dropped his hat.

"Ambrose!" He said with concern, watching with horror as the apple got nearer and nearer. Cain winced at the smacking sound that echoed, his heart jumping into his throat as the queen's voice rang through his ears:

"_I want you to look after him. He's vulnerable. If anything happens to him, his entire surgery could be in vain . . . I'm trusting you, Mister Cain. Please take care of my dear Ambrose."_

The tin man blinked, pushing the memory away as he watched Ambrose bring his hand down from his temple, the apple clutched tightly in his fingers.

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, turning the object around in his grasp. "I think we've collected enough, don't you, Mister Cain?"

Cain could only nod, looking down at his feet, where his hat lay. Only two apples had spilled from it, and he doubted very much that it mattered, seeing the large bulge in Ambrose's shirt-turned-apple-holder. They started off towards flatter ground, a few apples still whizzing past them or rolling by their feet.

By the time they reached an acceptable campsite to settle down for the night, it was almost too dark to see where they were going. Cain lit a fire as quickly as possible.

Ambrose eyed a rather juicy apple in the pile he'd laid in Cain's coat on the ground, reaching for it and bringing it to his lips. Just as he was about to take a bite, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling the object away from his mouth. A pair of icy-blue eyes watched him from beneath furrowed brows, the firelight licking shadows across the strong jawline and emphasizing the frown on the man's face. It took the adviser a moment to recover from the sight, and he swallowed hard, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Afraid you won't get your share, Mister Cain?" He asked a little more rudely than he'd intended. He sucked in a sharp breath, ready to apologize, but Cain interrupted him.

"You sure it's safe to eat these?" The tin man inquired skeptically, eyeing the object in question. He still hadn't removed his fingers from around the other man's wrist, and the contact caused Ambrose to falter slightly. Cain, however, took this as a bad sign and released him, grunting as he stood and turned. Ambrose's brain started up again at the loss of contact, and he scowled as Cain walked around the fire to sit beneath a nearby tree – but not before looking at it warily, the inventor observed.

"They're perfectly fine," Ambrose argued, taking a large bit to prove his point. He smiled as the sweet apple crunched nicely between his teeth, juice flooding his mouth and spilling smoothly down his throat.

"Wow," he breathed in pleasant surprise, reaching down and grasping another apple before tossing it over the fire at Cain. The tin man caught it, looking between it and Ambrose several times before sighing and taking an experimental bite.

His eyebrows rose. "Wow," he repeated Ambrose's statement. "This is . . ."

"Really good," Ambrose finished for him, taking another bite. By the time Cain had taken his third bite, the adviser was already onto his second apple.

"How'd you know how to do that?" The tin man asked softly, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Ambrose swallowed loudly and raised his eyebrows in question. "I mean, I wouldn't take a queen's adviser for one to be stealing apples from enchanted orchards."

Ambrose smiled gently, looking down at the apple in his hand to find another decent bite. "Apple thievery runs in the family." He gave Cain a mischievous smirk and took another large bite, leaving the other man to wonder whether he was being serious or not.

Later when the two dozed contently by the waning fire, Cain turned to his companion and said rather reservedly, "Very clever, head case."

The adviser smiled in his sleepy state, licking the remaining sweetness from his lips. "Why thank you, Wyatt."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Hope this one was okay... This is actually the first chapter I wrote for this story. It was going to stand as a one-shot, but I had the idea to keep it going... which meant I needed a first chapter to explain why the hell they were out in the middle of nowhere getting apples thrown at them... Okay, done rambling.

Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)


	3. Day the Second

AN: Well, hello again! Hope everyone's having a good end-of-the-school-year. I, myself, am out of school for the summer! Yay college... :) Unfortunately, I will be working working working. 40-hour weeks with only one day off, which means about as much time to update as when I was in school... So yuck. But I'll try! But no more distressing about work and the horrible things they will make me do. On with the story!

_Chapter Three: Day the Second_

Ambrose woke with a gasp, sitting straight up and digging his fingers into the dirt. He seemed to be waking like this more and more often – save the musty smell of a forest morning and the painful kink in his neck – finding, to his dismay, that he could not recall the nightmare he had been having. The only indications that he even had one were usually his tear-soaked cheeks and the knot twisting in his stomach.

Glancing around, he found no sign of Cain, and his heart fluttered before he realized the man was probably wandering around doing O.Z.-knew-what. He _was _into all this woodsy stuff.

_Probably out wrestling lions or tigers or bears, _the inventor mused with a snort, but his humor was short-lived. The nightmare still had a decent grip on him; his hands shook and his chest shuddered with every breath. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his head, shivering despite the rather warm morning.

This is how Cain found him, huddled near the dwindling fire and shaking like it was the dead of winter. "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle the other man as he cautiously approached him. Ambrose looked up, and the tin man winced at the shadows he found beneath those dark, piercing eyes. Tear tracks were evident on his cheeks, and his skin was a ghostly pallor. "You all right?"

Ambrose stood quickly, ignoring the sudden head rush as he stumbled back a step. He nodded firmly, brushing off Cain's attempt to help steady him. "I'm fine." He glanced distastefully at the rabbits clutched in the tin man's hand. "Breakfast?"

"Well, it's no palace cuisine," Cain shrugged with a smirk, "but they'll do."

Ambrose was not one for rabbit . . . or any meat in particular. He could barely stand to think what Glitch had eaten during his wanderings after the witch had removed his brain and turned him loose, but he had sworn to make up for it. He eyed the few remaining apples left beside the fire.

"Thank you, but I think I'll decline," he said absently, reaching down for the fruit.

Cain raised an eyebrow. "Suit yourself."

The next moments were filled with the ripping sounds of Cain skinning the rabbits and Ambrose crunching on the surprisingly still-ripe apples. He smiled slightly at the sweetness of them. He remembered apples like these when he was younger; his mother would use them in as many recipes as she could. The thought of his mother made his smile wane, and he lowered the last half of his apple to his lap, staring into the fire with a distant look on his face.

Cain watched him carefully, slicing into the small creatures he'd caught, disemboweling them, and preparing them for the fire he'd rekindled. "You sure you're all right?"

Ambrose started at the words, his gaze snapping up as he set wide eyes on Cain's solemn face. "Yes, of course . . . Why do you ask?"

The tin man sighed, laying the rabbits on the propped-up stick placed over the fire. "You were pretty restless last night; tossing and turning, mumbling about . . ."

Ambrose swallowed hard. "About?" He asked as nonchalantly as he could muster.

Cain considered telling the man what he'd been shouting – _not _mumbling – in his sleep. It had taken the tin man nearly twenty minutes to calm the man down, using a trick he'd learned from his wife when Jeb was younger and had night terrors; he'd stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words into his ear until he'd settled back into a quiet sleep. Adora had always told him it was better to try and sooth them in their sleep rather than wake them – there was less of a chance they'd remember the nightmare if they didn't wake up.

"Cain?" Ambrose questioned, pulling the man from his thoughts.

Cain lowered his gaze and shook his head. "I don't know. It was mostly just nonsense, nothing I could make out."

_No! Stop! Please, I-I can't tell you! Stop! It hurts! I can't give you what you want! Please!_

The tin man winced at the words that echoed in his mind, Ambrose's frightened voice still very vivid. He looked up, finding a skeptical look on the inventor's face as he curled in on himself again.

"Probably just a nightmare," Ambrose shrugged. "We all have them, right?"

Cain clenched his teeth. "Yea." He watched the rabbits begin to turn a dark brown. "Yea, I guess we do."

0 o 0 o 0

They'd been hiking for hours. Ambrose's feet were aching, despite the heavy palace boots he wore. Cain seemed unstoppable, always a few paces ahead of the adviser and usually having to slow his pace so the other could catch up. The tin man tried not to remind himself that he could have covered the ground they had traveled in about a third of the time they'd taken if he had been alone. Still, Ambrose had yet to complain, much unlike his alter ego, who had whined as much as possible _whenever _possible on their past adventures before the witch had been stripped of power.

And as much as this made Cain's journey a little more pleasant, it still made several questions spur to life in his mind. Ambrose obviously had skills enough to provide food for himself in the woods and had even expertly helped Cain break camp with no instruction. Although he was slower at trekking the uneven ground than Cain was, he was still better than most tin men the other had met or trained, able to spot gruesome-looking hunting traps hidden beneath piles of fallen leaves, jagged rocks that would bite through even the toughest of boots, and a few sinkholes that could swallow a full-grown man within a matter of minutes.

Beneath all the inquiries lay one question that surfaced more and more often than the rest: Who was Ambrose?

"Cain?" Ambrose's voice was small, reluctant, as if he regretted the fact that he was speaking at all. Cain stopped and turned, finding the adviser halted a few yards behind him.

"You all right?" He asked, leaning against a nearby tree and waiting for him to catch his breath.

"Do you think we could rest for a moment?" Ambrose was breathing hard, and Cain had to wonder how long he'd been pushing himself without saying anything.

"Yea, sure," the tin man agreed, squatting beneath the tree and checking their surroundings. The trees were less dense now that they were getting further and further from the border. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Ambrose, but the night before had been one of the most frightening since his first few days in the metal suit.

Cain didn't know much about magic or the palace life, or even half of what the inventor rambled on about when talking about a new invention. But he had grown up on folklore. His bedtime stories had been about monsters and the darklands beyond the border. His grandmother had even insisted – to his parents' disapproval – that she'd traveled beyond the border once with her brother, Jack. She and Jack had been sent to the river to get water for their mother, and Jack had dared her to cross the borderline, calling her names until she had finally relented and they both climbed over the forbidden wall separating the darklands from the O.Z.

_It was dark, _she'd whispered to him in a haunted tone one night while he lay in his bed, the covers pulled tightly up to his chin._ We'd barely gone over the first hill when the screams began. Hundreds of them; voices screeching like crows: 'Run! Run as fast as you can!' And then a dark figure swooped down on us, forcing us back down the hill. We tumbled and tumbled, yelling like death itself was after us. When we reached the bottom, Jack fell hard against the ground. All I could see was the blood dripping down the front of his face, and his eyes – oh, they were so cold, so distant. I ran away, leaving him behind; back to our home, where mother was standing outside calling for us. I sobbed in her arms and told her what we'd done. My father ran to the wall to look for Jack._

_Did he find him, Nana Jill? _The young Wyatt had asked, his eyes wide and shining with a terrified curiosity. _Did he find Jack? _

Nana Jill's eyes had saddened, and tears fell down her cheeks as she shook her head. _No, dear. Jack was gone. And I forever hold the blame for it in my heart._

_You couldn't have known, Nana, _he had tried to comfort the old woman gently. Nana Jill had nodded with a forced smile and gone to bed after kissing his forehead.

And that had been the end of it. She'd passed away that night in her sleep. The doctor said it had just been her time, but Cain still maintained to this very day that it had been the heartache that had released her soul into the woods; cursed to forever wander until Jack was found and brought home.

Cain's parents had forbid anymore talk of faerie tales after her burial, contradicting his grandmother's stories by telling him that she had been very sick and old and confused, that she had never had a brother named Jack. But that had not stopped Cain from believing. He'd kept only one thing of his grandmother's when his parents had thrown her stuff out – a picture of her and Jack hand-in-hand as they walked towards the river, a pail swinging carelessly in Jill's fingers . . . It was the very last photograph of them together, because it had been the very last day that she had seen her brother.

There _were _monsters beyond that border. Cain knew there were. His grandmother had been old, yes, but not sick or confused. She had spoken with too much emotion for her stories to be false.

And Cain could swear he'd heard her the night before as Ambrose slept unsoundly, whispering in his ear: _Run! Run as fast as you can!_

The tin man shivered, forcing himself out of his own troubled thoughts and focusing on Ambrose, who was standing and dusting off his clothes unnecessarily.

"You ready?" He rasped, clearing his throat and wincing when his knees cracked as he stood. The inventor nodded, watching the man carefully.

"Are you?" He asked sincerely, his eyes conveying a slight worry.

"Yea." Cain swallowed. "Let's keep going till dusk, then we'll stop and make camp."

"All right," Ambrose replied, his tone and quiet manner almost making the other man wish he had Glitch with him – at least the head case would be enough of a distraction to keep him from dwelling on thoughts of the past. Cain waited for him to catch up before continuing their trek through the forest.

AN: Next chapter to come soon! Keep a look out. :) Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	4. Night the Second

AN: Hey, Kats and Kittens!! So sorry I've been lagging on this story. I'm actually up to Chapter Ten over on LiveJournal. Sooo... Yea! Enjoy!

_Chapter Four: Night the Second_

Ambrose refused to sleep. Partly because he was afraid of a repeat performance of the night before – he knew the tin man was lying about the muttering; Ambrose rarely _didn't _wake screaming nowadays – and partly because Cain was staring at him. The look in the other man's eyes made it near impossible for the inventor to tell whether he was concerned or just plain annoyed.

"You should really get some sleep," Cain said gruffly, his face darkened by the shadow of his hat. Ambrose nodded but made no move to comply. Cain said no more, knowing that the man would drift off eventually.

When he did, finally, the tin man almost regretted that he had suggested he do so in the first place. Ambrose immediately gasped in terror, his brows furrowing and a sheen of sweat forming on his face.

"Ambrose?" Cain asked quietly, sitting up and watching the adviser carefully. If he settled within a couple of minutes, the tin man wouldn't worry too much about it . . . Though from the looks of things, he was headed for a long night.

Ambrose arched, suddenly, letting out a pained whimper, and Cain was on his feet immediately, circling the fire and kneeling down beside the other man. He gently ran his fingers through the inventor's slick hair, his other hand pressing against the small of the man's back as he pulled him up into his arms and held him close like he had the night before.

"Shh," he soothed, closing his eyes as Ambrose jerked in his hold and gave another cry of pain. "It's okay. It's all right. I gotcha. You're all right." He swallowed hard and sighed when his actions didn't seem to be helping any, wondering what in the O.Z. could be troubling the other man.

0 o 0 o 0

_Ambrose couldn't breathe. He couldn't move, he couldn't scream, he couldn't even blink. All he _could _do was watch helplessly as a man in a rubber, white doctor's coat stood over him, smiling with sharp, yellow teeth. _

_'No!' He wanted to shout. 'No, please!' But his lips were numb, his throat was paralyzed, his voice . . . he had no voice._

"_Count back from one-hundred," a sickly hoarse tone murmured above him as a mask was forced over his face._

_There were noises around him, noises he couldn't tune out. The tightening of leather straps. The clinking of metal instruments he was sure weren't very pleasant-looking. The hissing of gas as it slithered up his nostrils and down his throat, attempting to choke consciousness from him. _

_A tear slipped from the corner of his left eye, silently falling to the polished surface of the table beneath him. He had failed. The queen was probably locked away, being tortured, or worse, and he was lying there giving the enemy exactly what they wanted. _

_'Oh, my queen, forgive me,' he sobbed internally. 'Forgive me . . .'_

0 o 0 o 0

"Forgive me . . ." Ambrose murmured in his sleep, tears streaming from his eyes. It was the most heartbreaking tone Cain had ever heard, and he pulled the man closer so that his lips rested against the other's ear.

"No one blames you, Ambrose," he whispered, rocking the inventor slightly. "There is nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong."

0 o 0 o 0

"_. . . You did nothing wrong."_

_But Ambrose couldn't believe it. He just couldn't find fault in anyone but himself._

_He felt the first incision into his head, a jagged scalpel dragging down the center of his scalp. He heard his own screams echo within his mind, but outwardly, all he could do was shed more tears. _

0 o 0 o 0

Ambrose bucked in Cain's arms, the tin man having to hold him at arm's length for a moment to keep from getting hit in the face. The adviser's mouth opened wide in a silent scream, and Cain pulled him close again, tucking the man's head beneath his chin. Ambrose was practically sitting in his lap now, writhing at the memories the night terror brought.

"Ambrose, you have to listen to me," he breathed, swallowing hard and gritting his teeth as he wracked his brain for the right words to say. "Please, just listen . . ."

0 o 0 o 0

"_. . . Please just listen."_

_Ambrose centered in on the words. The voice was so familiar . . . but who did it belong to? Pain shocked him back to his nightmare, and he whimpered in his mind. _

_The voice persisted, soothing and strong. "Shh, just listen to me, okay?" Ambrose relaxed his thoughts and let the words wash over him. "None of this was your fault."_

_'But it was,' he thought sadly. _

"_No," the voice insisted firmly. He could almost feel a pair of warm hands rubbing his back, calming him further. "You were trying to help."_

_'I helped the enemy.'_

"_You helped the O.Z. You saved so many lives, Ambrose. You didn't know the witch's plans for your invention. You couldn't have."_

_'She killed so many . . . For so many years . . . I made such a mess. I have to fix it! I have to help!'_

"_And you have. You will. But you need to rest now. The O.Z. is safe. Just sleep."_

_And, suddenly, it came to him. 'Cain?'_

_A short pause then a hesitant, "Yea?"_

0 o 0 o 0

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

Cain sucked in a breath at these words, holding the man closer. "I don't know what I'd do without you either, head case. Now get some rest, okay?"

"Okay." Ambrose relaxed in Cain's arms.

0 o 0 o 0

_He didn't know why Cain's words made him feel better, but when the frightening images around him disappeared, he was grateful for them. _

_Cain, the strong and fearless tin man, seemed to have a heart after all . . . or was it 'all along'? He couldn't decide, and his thoughts washed away into a blessedly dreamless sleep before he could make up his mind. _

0 o 0 o 0

Cain gently lay his friend back down, removing his coat and draping it over the lightly shivering man before settling back against the nearest tree. He doubted that Ambrose would have another night terror, but just in case . . .

He was getting drowsy, but his mind continued to wander to thoughts of the inventor. From what he'd gathered, Ambrose must have been dreaming of his brain-removal surgery. What's more, Ambrose didn't seem half as troubled about the actual event as he did the betrayal he believed he'd committed.

But he could hardly have prevented it from happening, short of . . . Well, Cain wasn't sure he wanted to think about that very much. All he knew was that nothing that had happened to the O.Z. had been Ambrose's fault, and he was going to prove it one way or another.

AN: Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	5. Day the Third

AN: Next chapter up! Later, Gators!

_Chapter Five: Day the Third_

Cain woke to the crackling smell of something wonderful. His nose twitched as he breathed the scent in deeply and sighed his satisfaction. For a brief moment, he was reminded of his wife; how she would wake him with the smell of breakfast, dressed and ready for the day. He wondered sometimes how she had done it – getting up so early, taking care of their home, making the meals, watching over Jeb. She had been a regular miracle.

The moment passed, and his heart stung as the memory of her death came over him suddenly. He swallowed hard before opening his eyes, raising the hat on his face back onto his head and blinking as the morning light filtered through the trees.

Ambrose was hunched near the fire, watching something intently. He jumped when Cain cleared his throat.

"Morning, Ambrose," the tin man said with a nod and a smirk.

"Good morning, Cain," the inventor returned with a strained politeness. "It's good to see you up, finally. I would have thought you'd be awake by now, hunting down the wildlife of the forest."

"Well," Cain sighed, stretching with a wince as his back popped, "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Really?" Ambrose asked, eyebrows furrowed. "I slept wonderfully." He hummed an absent tune while he poked something hanging over the fire with a stick but stopped abruptly and frowned. "I mean, I think I did . . . It's all very vague." He looked thoughtful for a moment longer before shrugging. "Either way, I feel very refreshed this morning."

Cain stood and glanced over the man's shoulder. "Whatcha got going there?"

The adviser craned his neck to look up at the tin man, smiling as he said, "Rabbits."

"Thought you didn't like rabbits."

"I don't," Ambrose stated, turning back towards the fire. "These are for you."

Cain's eyebrows rose high on his head. "Me?"

"Yes." Ambrose pulled the two cooked rabbits from the fire and held them out to the man. "You."

Cain took the stick that the rabbits were tied to and looked at them skeptically. "You know how to catch rabbits?"

"I'm a quick study." The inventor crossed his arms indignantly, daring the man to say anything. "Now eat before it gets cold."

Cain sighed, taking a hesitant bite. It was surprisingly good. Almost better than he himself could cook. "Hmm," he commented, taking another bite. "You sure you don't want any?"

"I've already had breakfast, thank you," Ambrose said with a satisfied smile, turning and beginning to break camp. The tin man eyed the fruit cores lying in a pile beside the fire and grunted, continuing to eat his own breakfast.

Cooking rabbits was just another thing that he would have to add to the endless questions surrounding the mysterious man known as _Ambrose_.

0 o 0 o 0

"There's a river not too far from here," Cain noted conversationally as the two hiked up a rather steep hill. Ambrose was still feeling rather well, a smile adorning his face every so often when the tin man looked back at him, and he was keeping up much better today. "It'd be a great place to take a break, maybe wash up a bit."

The inventor brightened at the idea. "Oh, that would be nice." His smile reminded Cain of Glitch for a moment – that wide grin that would curve up towards his high cheekbones, the crinkles of skin that would appear in the corners of his eyes.

Ambrose was certainly not Glitch, but Cain was slowly warming up to the man.

"It's just a little more than a quarter of a mile. It shouldn't be long now," he explained. And true to his word, little less than fifteen minutes later, Ambrose could hear the gurgling sounds of rushing water. He grinned widely when he and Cain finally stood on the bank, their boots squishing in the soft, wet sand.

"Well," the tin man said with a smirk, "last one in's a rotten egg." He removed his hat and started to unbutton his vest and shirt. Ambrose's smile waned somewhat as the other man began to shuck his clothing and hang it on a few nearby branches.

Cain's back was riddled with scars – befitting of a tin man with his experience – and Ambrose swallowed, forcing himself to turn away as he began to remove his own clothing, starting with his vest. Cain had a reason for his scars. He'd earned them, each one marking his bravery and valor. Ambrose's scars, however, conveyed his cowardice, his betrayal to the queen and the O.Z. He hadn't showed them to anyone except Raw, who had attempted to heal them. Unfortunately, the scars had been etched far too deeply and with far too much dark magic. Not even the queen herself, if she was returned to her full power, could rid his body of them.

And they ached – oh, they ached – even after fifteen years.

The inventor held his breath as he slowly let his shirt slip over his shoulders and down the length of his skinny but well-muscled arms, catching the garment as it slithered to his fingers. The scars seemed to sizzle against the chill coming from the river, and Ambrose hunched his shoulders, hissing in pain.

Cain turned, his fingers undoing his belt when he noticed the angry welts glaring at him from the adviser's back. "Ambrose?" He took a step towards him, and the man turned around, eyebrows raised in feigned question.

"Where did you get those?"

The inventor begged Cain with his eyes to leave the matter alone, but the tin man stared at him expectantly.

"The witch," he said breathlessly, crossing his arms defensively. "She tried . . . several other tactics of extracting the information from me before she took my brain."

Cain slowly and cautiously stepped around the man, coming to a stop behind him and furrowing his brows at the red marks. "These don't look fifteen years old," he pointed out, studying them carefully. "They barely look a couple hours old at most but . . ." He trailed off, and Ambrose tilted his head so that he could see the other man out of the corner of his eye.

"Dark magic is a scary thing, Cain," he whispered, stepping away from the man and removing his pants before heading towards the river in nothing more than a tight-fitting pair of gray shorts.

When he got close enough for the water to lap at his toes, he turned, a bright smile on his face. "Hey, Cain!" He called, taking a step back into the water. "Looks like you're the rotten egg!"

0 o 0 o 0

Cain tried not to stare as they dressed again. The swim had been relaxing. They'd raced a couple of times, swimming from one bank to the other. It had been a tie both times, but Cain wondered if Ambrose had been holding back any . . .

He noticed he was still watching Ambrose dress and quickly turned away, sucking in a breath and hurriedly pulling on his own clothes, though he couldn't dismiss the fact that the inventor winced when he pulled on his shirt.

"You can ask, you know," Ambrose said quietly. Cain turned towards him, and the inventor met his gaze soberly.

"Ask what?"

"If they still hurt."

The tin man clenched his jaw, looking down towards his bare feet. "Do they?" He questioned softly after a long pause. He looked up warily, finding a small, sad smile on the other man's lips.

"Sometimes," Ambrose replied, fixing the collar of his shirt. "I don't really think about them much anymore. Not even when I'm around Azkadellia."

Cain nodded, wanting to end the conversation but not knowing how. "Have you asked her to try and remove them?"

"No," the adviser said firmly, his lips tightening into thin lines. "No, I couldn't ask her to undo what the witch did."

"Why not?" Cain asked, his eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Ambrose absently rolled back the cuffs of his shirt, staring at his smooth, pale wrists – the only scars that Raw had been able to remove, and the ones that Ambrose had been glad to see gone. "Because I see the looks she gives me. She's tormented by the fact that she had to sit in her own mind and watch what was done to me by her own hands."

"All the more reason to let her do it," the tin man argued, pulling his coat on and looking around for his hat.

"All the more reason to make her believe I don't need fixing," Ambrose countered, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and tucking his shirt in. "You think having her remove the scars would ease her conscience?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Because it would only serve as a reminder. And what if her magic isn't strong enough to remove them? How will she feel then?"

"Then why not ask her and DG to do it together? They're pretty powerful when they combine their magic." Cain could not see the point in arguing. He knew Ambrose would have an answer for every point he made, and he knew that it was only because the inventor had thought this through very carefully. But still, he wanted to know.

Ambrose shook his head. "Az will not want her sister to know what the witch did to me."

"But DG knows it was the witch, not Azkadellia."

"Of course she does," the inventor smiled. "But Azkadellia only has the memories of doing it herself. It may have been the witch that performed the Dark magic, but it was through Azkadellia that she performed it."

"You blame Azkadellia?" Cain asked accusingly, his hands resting on his hips as he stared hard at the other man.

"Not at all," Ambrose said matter-of-factly. "The point is she blames herself, and until she can learn to forgive herself just as everyone else has, I cannot ask her to help me."

The tin man sighed. The adviser's logic was confusing and seemed to make sense only to him, but Cain was far too occupied with their current crisis to be dealing with another.

"Have you tried asking Raw?"

Ambrose ran a thumb over his right wrist, a far away look taking his eyes. "Raw has done his part," he replied quietly. "His healing powers are not strong enough to counteract the Dark magic."

"So . . . You've just given up?" Cain demanded, crossing his arms and frowning.

The inventor looked up into his icy blue eyes with a forced smirk. "I've learned to live with it."

"Doesn't seem to be much of a difference," the tin man commented, turning and scanning the area for their next direction. "I think we can follow the river for a while, maybe make camp along it later. I wouldn't mind some fish for dinner."

Ambrose nodded, rolling his aching shoulders. The swim had done him some good, but he was definitely going to pay for it soon enough. "All right."

The two began their arduous journey up the river bank, the suns beating down on them from above.

AN: See you later!


	6. Night the Third

AN: Yes, yes, it's been a while, and I am truly sorry. I've been busy with school, but I've found a break, so here it is! The sixth chapter! Hopefully it won't be as long before the seventh comes out. :)

Enjoy!

_Chapter Six:_

Cain smiled as he took another bite of fish, careful to chew slowly and spit the small bones aside. Ambrose sat across the fire, munching happily on a fruit that he had traded with a passing Pahpay. The creatures had become increasingly peaceful since the queen's return to the thrown. The Pahpay they had come upon had been more than willing to trade his fruit for a few fish and news from the palace – more so for the former than the latter. Cain had been wary of the creature during their meeting, his hand resting on his belt near his gun while Ambrose had eagerly approached the creature, chatting with it politely.

And now they sat, Cain with his fish and Ambrose with his fruit, neither knowing what to talk about.

The tin man cleared his throat after a while, having finally thought of something they might be able to talk about civilly. "So," he began, "did you know Azkadellia and DG when they were younger?"

The inventor chuckled. "I did," he confirmed with a nod. "I was there when they were born."

Cain's eyebrows rose slightly. "Really?"

Ambrose nodded. "Azkadellia was born much too early. She almost didn't survive . . . She was so small." The inventor's eyes glazed with the memory. "And DG; she was stubborn and very, very late. The doctors would have had to induce the birth if she hadn't come when she did."

The tin man smiled slightly. "I was away when Jeb was born. I didn't even get to meet him until he was two months old . . . but the first time I held him, he gave me his very first smile."

"Sounds like it was worth it," Ambrose said.

Cain nodded. "What were they like when they were younger?"

The inventor shifted slightly, taking a breath and delving into his mind for the memories. "DG was ambitious, brave . . . troublesome. There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't get herself into some kind of trouble, and she always ran to my lab when she was hiding from Tutor or her mother." Cain chuckled. "Azkadellia was smart, studious. She spent most of her time either in the library or in my lab watching me work. She even designed a few handy gadgets – alarms to alert me when it was time to eat, things to help me keep track of time." Ambrose removed the pocket watch from his vest, turning it in his hand carefully. "She made this for me." He tinkered with it a moment. "It was to be a wedding gift."

Cain's eyes widened. "A . . . A wedding gift?" The inventor nodded. "But she was just a kid!"

"She was two years older than the queen was when she was married," Ambrose said defensively, smiling after a moment. "_She_ is the one who proposed."

"She asked you to marry her?" The tin man asked incredulously.

"No, she asked her mother," the inventor explained with amusement, taking another bite of his fruit. It really was very good. It had been extinct along with the flowers that the queen had loved so much, and, thanks to DG, both were back in bloom in the land of the Pahpay. "It was a request for her fifteenth birthday."

Cain's eyebrows furrowed. "She asked to marry you for her fifteenth birthday?"

"The queen was ecstatic," Ambrose huffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"I take it you weren't."

"I didn't love her," the adviser admitted with a regretful smile. "But I was serviced to the queen. And everyone knows you don't refuse a queen's request."

The tin man looked confused for a moment. "Did she even ask you? Or did she just outright tell you that you had to get married?"

Ambrose froze, the words to defend the queen on the tip of his tongue and holding there. He couldn't remember. For the first time since his surgery, he couldn't remember something. "I . . ."

"Ambrose?" Cain asked with concern, sitting forward slightly. "Are you all right?"

"No, I . . . I mean yes. I'm fine. I just . . ." The inventor stumbled over his words. "I think I need some sleep."

The tin man nodded, studying the other carefully.

"I think we both do."

0 o 0 o 0

_The Story of Ambrose:_

_Once upon a time – and a very strange time it was – there lived a girl with three older brothers and three younger sisters. She wanted so badly to be seen, so badly to be unique and to stand out from her family. But no one saw her, and no one could see how brilliant she was. Every night, she would slip away to the city, where she would hide away in the library, reading as many books as her tired, dark eyes would allow._

_On her thirteenth birthday, there arrived a letter for her: an invitation from the elves! They asked her to come to their kingdom and hold a child during its christening. Her parents refused, encouraging her to forget the letter, burn it. But she had read long ago in a very big book that it was not wise to refuse an invitation from the elves._

_And so she secretly accepted. The day of the christening, two elves arrived on the doorstep. Her family begged her not to go, and for a short moment she considered. They had never noticed her before. They had never even cast her a glance, too occupied with themselves. But the elves wanted her. They thought she was special enough to be the godmother of an elf. So she left, following the elves to their mountain kingdom and imagining all the wonderful things she would tell her family upon her return._

_She held the child at the christening, finding that the child was not an elf at all, but a human child with hair and eyes as black as night. The elves were not permitted to name a human child, and so asked her to. After careful consideration, she smiled and whispered the name into the infant's ear, because she had read that once an elf was known to the name of a human baby, the baby was theirs to raise and __keep._

_After the christening, there was a celebration. Three days it would last, the elves told her, and three days she stayed, dancing and drinking and singing. After three days, the elves led her back from their kingdom with a small basket as a token of their appreciation. When they returned to her home, she found it gone, the land covered with tall grass._

_Three days she had spent in the kingdom of the elves, only to find that one-hundred years had passed in the land of humans. Her family, her life, was gone. The elves did no more than leave her to mourn._

_When she discovered she was alone with nothing but the basket to keep her company, she wept, falling to her knees and crying until nightfall, when a young man happened upon her. He was a traveler and a great inventor, cast into the streets at a young age and forced to survive on his own. But he didn't much mind. He liked seeing new places and making new inventions to sell . . . though he could not stand to see a beautiful girl such as she so distraught._

_When she had sobbed her story into his handkerchief and calmed herself, he lay a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, offering a sad smile and a place to stay. He introduced himself. Jacob was his name. Anna was hers. As they stood, a noise came from the basket that she had been given by the elves – a soft cry – and when she pulled back the white cloth covering its contents, she gasped._

_There lay the baby she had held in her arms during the christening._

_Jacob was wary of bringing the infant with them, accusing the elves of enchantment and dark magic. But Anna would hear none of it, cradling the baby and gently singing._

_Several years passed. Jacob and Anna were married, raising the child as their own. He was small, not very strong, but very smart and took an interest in Jacob's work immediately. Anna schooled him at home, afraid his frail nature would only hinder him if he was subjected to public schooling and other children . . . and she was afraid that his secret might be discovered._

_The boy was not like other boys, or any children for that matter. He grew with the enchantment of the elves, and so was both blessed and cursed with their immortality._

_Years passed, and the boy grew little by very little while his parents aged profoundly. On her death bed, Anna whispered the amazing tale of their life to her boy, and he was very sad to think that he must live alone and isolated for eternity – for what was the use of friends if he was going to outlive them? But his mother was smart. She had learned the elves' secrets, and she knew how to break the enchantment. Then, and only then, would he be free to live a life of mortality._

_Anna died, as did Jacob, and the boy was left utterly alone._

AN: Hope you liked! Stay tuned for what's to come! Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	7. Day the Fourth

AN: Next chapter! Now get on with it. I have to go watch _House_...

Chapter Seven

_The Story of Ambrose:_

The boy grew slowly, decades passing before he was able to pass as a man. He kept to himself, continuing his father's work and hiding himself away in the house that his parents had left him.

No one bothered him. No one had the nerve. The town thought his house was haunted, and with the noises from his inventions and the strange-colored smoke from the chimney, he couldn't blame them. Children threw rocks at his windows and yelled particularly nasty things. Passers-by would avoid looking at the house altogether, preferring to ignore it. There were a few curious people who would step up to the drive, but no one would venture any further besides his suppliers.

Before her death, Anna had arranged an agreement with the town's grocer. He was the only one who knew of the boy's situation and would tell no one except his son when he took over so that the line would continue and the boy-turned-hermit would not be forced to interact with people who did not understand. And for decades the agreement was held.

Once, there was a particularly loud explosion from inside the house, and when the man had emerged from his house, coughing and blinking furiously, he found that the grocer's son had left his groceries on the porch but had forgotten to take the money that had been left in the small box attached to the wall beside the door. The grocer's son had, no doubt, been startled by the noise and, in his haste to leave as quickly as possible, had left without retrieving the payment. The man had taken the groceries inside, leaving the money in hopes that the boy would return later when chastised by his father to get it.

Unfortunately, nightfall had come with no sign of the boy, and the man could clearly not take the groceries without paying for them – his inventions were quite popular in neighboring towns and cities and brought in quite a bit of money, which he used only to buy groceries and more supplies for making more inventions. It was the first time the man had dared step foot in town, and he held his breath almost the entire time. The grocer had just been closing when he cautiously stepped through the door.

"Can I help you, Mister?"

The man explained quietly that the grocer's son had made a delivery for him earlier and forgotten to take the money he had left. The grocer's eyes had widened. There was only one place that they delivered to, and he was sure he had never seen the man in his store before.

"You're . . . You're him_, aren't you? The inventor!"_

The pale man had nodded politely, placing the money on the counter and leaving as quickly as possible. He was grateful for the cover of night. No one seemed to be out after dark.

"You there!"

Well, nearly no one. The inventor stopped abruptly, stiffening and turning slowly to find a man in the doorway of the grocer's store, pointing at him. He was very official-looking with a long, finely-pressed coat and finely-shined boots and finely-combed hair. Probably a guard from the palace.

The official-looking man stepped towards him. "Yes, you." He stopped when he reached him, studying him carefully and with a harsh scrutiny. The inventor was not used to such attention and squirmed under the gaze. "You are the one they call the inventor?"

Is that what they called him? 'The inventor'? It was actually rather degrading, being known only by one's occupation. But he supposed they did not really know enough about him to call him anything else. He frowned and nodded.

The guard pulled a scroll from his coat, handing it to him and nodding his approval. "You have been summoned by her majesty, the queen. I am to escort you to the palace immediately."

The inventor did not understand. Why would the queen want an audience with him_? How had she known of him? And what of his things? He would have to pack, of course . . . right?_

He expressed his concerns softly, not having learned much about proper social etiquette in his solitude but knowing enough to ask politely and with respect. The guard informed him that he was to worry about those things later, that he was given orders to take the man back to the palace . . . no exceptions.

And so the journey to the palace began. The inventor had never ridden a horse before, but he did so as if he had his entire life. Their arrival was met with whispers and wide-eyed looks, the queen herself looking surprised that he had been found. She hadn't expected to see him so soon, if at all. He was notoriously difficult to track, as his inventions were delivered through several different towns and the very town he lived in made it a point to hide his existence altogether.

He was courteous, and his manners were impeccable, even though his appearance was more than a little disturbing, what with his ghastly-pale complexion and skeleton-thin frame.

The queen was quick to make her point. She had acquired many of his inventions and requested his immediate employment. The inventor was not, however, quick to answer. He thought of his house – his parents' house; the house he had lived in his entire life – and his inventions and the town and the people . . . Well, not so much the people. But he knew he would miss it. However, he also knew that life without change was a life without experience, without living.

So he accepted. And there in the palace he stayed for many centuries, watching over and advising queen after queen. It was really not as exciting as he would have hoped, but when a lavender-eyed princess was thrust into his arms, he felt deep within himself that things were about to change . . . Whether for the better or for worse he was not sure, but he knew it would come, and there would be nothing to stop it.

Years later, after the witch had removed his brain and he had been wandering for a very long time, he stood in the abandoned palace he had once lived in, staring at a portrait of himself and the queen, having not the memory to tell the princess at his side that it was not a portrait of her mother_ but of her_ great-grandmother.

_And after everything had been restored – including his brain – the memories rushed over him like an ocean. Centuries of experience flooding his thoughts, drowning his senses. He had barely withstood it with his sanity intact. Only one thought kept him in his right mind – that of a certain secret whispered into the inventor's ear when he was very young:_

"My dearest Ambrose . . . Your freedom lies in true love. Only then can your enchantment be broken. Only then can you live your happily ever after."

And it was strange to him that when his mother's words echoed in his mind, the face that plagued his thoughts was that of a very familiar tin man . . .

0 o 0 o 0

Cain and Ambrose weaved their way through the forest, their boots kicking up fallen leaves. It was getting cooler, close to winter, and neither of them relished the notion of being caught in the first snowfall.

"Do you think you'll marry her?" The tin man asked conversationally, stepping over a nasty-looking hunting trap.

"Azkadellia?" The inventor questioned, his eyebrows raised as a funny smile spread across his face. "No, I don't believe so."

"The queen won't make you?"

"The queen won't make her," Ambrose explained, using a branch as leverage as he walked over a few jagged, uneven rocks. "Though even if the queen is insistent enough to convince the princess – because Azkadellia is not at all fond of marrying me now that the witch tortured me by using her magic – her majesty is aware that I cannot marry someone I do not love . . . I think she just has high hopes that the princess and I will have feelings enough for each other that . . ."

Cain glanced over his shoulder, finding a frown on the inventor's lips as he sifted through his thoughts. "That?"

Ambrose looked up, staring back into the tin man's icy blues and offering a small smile and a shake of his head. "It's a very long story."

"I've had my share of those," Cain insisted encouragingly.

"It's more of a faerie tale, really."

"Had my share of those too. And it's not like we don't have the time."

"Well," the inventor said hesitantly, "you can't say that I didn't warn you."

Cain thought about laughing at that statement, but the tone that Ambrose used made him think twice about asking to hear the story in the first place.

"My mother's name was Anna," the inventor started.

"Don't these kinds of stories usually start off with 'Once upon a time'?" The tin man smirked, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

"Very well," Ambrose said with a strained smile. "Once upon a time . . ."

AN: Later, Gators! Catch you in the next chapter! Seven down, six to go!


	8. Night the Fourth

AN: Okay, this one's a little short, but it's the YAOI chapter, so just a warning to all those who read:

WARNING: If you are offended by sexual situations between two men, please do not read this chapter!!

Other than that, I certainly hope you enjoy! And please cross your fingers for my computer. It's been acting up lately, and I just need it to last through finals!! Really! PLEASE!!

_Chapter Eight:_

Cain was in awe. Ambrose's story was . . . absolutely fantastical. But at the same time, the tin man couldn't help but believe every word.

"So . . . how old are you?" He questioned warily, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

Ambrose smiled sadly. "Very old," he sighed, his eyes reflecting the light of the campfire. "And very tired." It had taken him nearly all day to tell the story, and now that they had settled for the evening, Cain could see the exhaustion on the other man's face . . . though he was sure that the '_tired_' Ambrose meant had nothing to do with the events of the day.

"And I thought _I_ was feeling my age," the tin man laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His smile slowly waned as the inventor looked down at his hands. "It must have been lonely in that house for all those years."

Ambrose shook his head. "I tried not to think about it. I lost myself in my work." He smiled. "There was a window in the house on the second floor, where I could watch people walk in and out of town. I loved seeing what they would buy, what they would wear. I could see . . . everything." His eyes glazed a bit. "A scolding, a theft, a . . . stolen kiss." His hands were wringing nervously. "I've never . . ." He faltered, swallowing and laughing anxiously.

"You've never kissed a woman?" Cain asked with amusement.

"I've never kissed _anyone_," Ambrose admitted, eyebrows furrowed as he frowned at the fire. "Over the years, the queens I served would try to find me a suitable match. No one quite . . . fit." He looked up and offered Cain a strained smile. "Well, I think it's time to retire for the night."

He lay down quickly, his back to the tin man and his shoulders hunched tensely. The dying fire flickered and popped, casting dancing shadows around the small site as Cain slowly stood on aching knees and circled the small expanse.

Ambrose was shaking, his eyes shut tightly and his arms wrapped mercilessly around his middle, imprisoning the sobs that so desperately tried to escape. He'd never felt like this in all his life. His insides throbbed, and his heart thumped firmly against his ribcage. Why was it that that he'd been surrounded by the most noblest of people for centuries – people who had riches and fine skills and similar interests – and it took a mere tin man to bring his heart this close to breaking?

"Ambrose?" Cain's gentle voice wafted over him, making his breath hitch and his entire body tense. A hand on his shoulder turned him onto his back, but he refused to open his eyes. If he kept them closed . . . he could pretend this was really happening. "Open your eyes, head case."

Ambrose shook his head.

Cain frowned. "Ambrose." The inventor swallowed hard and slowly opened his eyes, tears falling loose as he stared up into the other man's piercing blues. "Why don't you ever look at me?" Ambrose's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he opened his mouth to reply, Cain continuing before he could say a word. "You don't. You _see_ me; you stare through that mask of yours that you think no one can tell you're wearing. But you don't _look_. You haven't ever . . . at least not since you were Glitch."

The adviser stared at the other man for a long moment, his chest tight and his breaths coming in shallow gusts. "I'm afraid," he whispered.

"Of me?"

Ambrose shook his head. "Of what you might see." He closed his eyes again and drew in as deep a breath as he could. "I've seen many things, Wyatt. _Too_ many. You couldn't even begin to . . ."

"Understand?" Cain suggested, a hint of indignation in his voice.

"_Believe_," the inventor corrected, carefully sitting up and opening his eyes enough to stare at the ground. "I want so badly to just . . . stop. I want to sleep and not have to worry about waking up. _Ever_."

"You don't mean that," Cain said with a shake of his head. "You can't."

"I can," Ambrose replied defensively. "I do."

"You can't give up. Not after so long."

"Why not?"

"Because there's someone out there, Ambrose. There's someone for _everyone_. It might take time, but it's worth the wait."

"And what it that someone doesn't love me back?" Ambrose challenged, raising his chin slightly. "What if I find them, and they don't . . . they _can't_ . . ."

"Then you have to make them see," Cain explained simply. "You have to make them _look_."

Ambrose hesitated before leaning forward slightly and whispering, "Then look."

The inventor's eyes gleamed as the firelight reflected back into the tin man's blues, and for the first time, Cain could see why Ambrose was so afraid to let others see him for who he really was. A deep, raw emotion lay hidden in those dark, ancient eyes – stories bursting to be told, tears that refused to be shed, silent screams that echoed endlessly. They frightened Cain somewhat, but they drew him in at the same time.

The tin man swallowed loudly. "You don't love me."

"If I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Ambrose pointed out, almost regretting so immediately.

"I'm not the right person for you. I can't be."

"There's only one way to find out."

Cain's voice stuck to the back of his throat as he desperately tried to remember how to breath. Ambrose wasn't seriously suggesting . . . The inventor knew better than to put him in that kind of position . . . didn't he? Adora hadn't even been dead for . . .

But somehow Adora's death didn't seem to have anything to do with the current situation. Yes, it still hurt to think about her, but with Ambrose . . . it was like the pain was eased. Cain didn't want that. He wanted Adora's death to hurt, to remind his heart that he had been in love and had lost one of the most important people in his life.

Not to say that Ambrose wasn't important as well. But . . .

_But what_? Cain thought. For some reason, there was no excuse.

"I s'pose so," he said quietly, his gaze settling on Ambrose's lips.

The inventor sucked in a breath. "Cain, I didn't mean . . . You don't have to-"

Cain closed the distance between them.

The kiss was clumsy, almost sloppy, but the tin man reached around the back of Ambrose's head to quickly center the kiss and take control, lowering the inventor onto his back and sliding between his legs to grind their hips together.

Ambrose broke the kiss with a surprised gasp, his chest heaving and his eyes wide.

"I take it you've never had sex either," Cain commented with amusement, breathing heavily. The inventor could see the darkening lust in the other man's eyes and wondered if his own reflected such an emotion, such a primal need. He shook his head with an anxious, breathy laugh.

"Never saw the need for it."

"Until now, I hope," the tin man growled.

"Oh, most definitely now," Ambrose whispered, his eyelids fluttering shut as Cain ground their hips together again. "Now, now, now."

And that's all the encouragement Cain needed.

He stood, pulling Ambrose with him, and shoved the inventor against the nearest tree, pressing up against him harshly. Their mouths collided again, teeth clicking and tongues clashing. Ambrose grunted as Cain shoved him harder against the tree, thrusting against him desperately. Shaking fingers fumbled with the buttons of the tin man's vest, the blond having to rip it off himself when Ambrose's efforts proved unsuccessful.

He tossed it aside, unbuttoning his shirt and doing the same before starting on his pants. Ambrose swallowed hard, beginning to unbutton his own clothing. His hands trembled, and his breaths came in shuddering gusts.

"Hey," Cain said, placing a hand over the other man's to cease his action. Ambrose looked up with wide, nervous eyes. "Are you sure about this? We don't have to-"

"Wyatt," Ambrose interrupted breathlessly, finally figuring out the buttons on his vest and shirt and nearly ripping the garments off, "stop talking."

In an instant, both of their pants were pooled around their ankles, Ambrose's kicked to the side as he was pulled up and his legs wrapped firmly around Cain's middle. He braced his back against the tree, hissing as the bark scratched mercilessly against his scars, and wrapped his arms around Cain's broad shoulders.

The tin man spit into his right hand, the fingers of his left clutching Ambrose's thigh to keep him steady. He looked up into the other's dark eyes apprehensively.

"This is gonna hurt," he said with a wince, slicking his hardening member and positioning himself. Ambrose merely nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

The first thrust was agony. The inventor fell forward onto Cain's shoulder, biting into it as he suppressed a moan. He had been prepared for pain, had even _wanted_ it for a moment. But this . . . This was the reason he had stayed away from sex to begin with.

Cain continued slowly, closing his eyes and concentrating on his will power to do so. It was hard. He was aching with the need to hasten his speed, to pound into the other man without restraint. But he couldn't do that to Ambrose, not now, on this of all nights.

"Y-You can . . ." The inventor swallowed loudly, panting a few times before continuing. "You can go a little faster, Cain."

Cain didn't question the words, only complied. Granted, it still wasn't as fast as he wanted to go, but it was definitely more satisfying than before.

Ambrose was easing into the rhythm, his muscles finally relaxing as the pain began to dissipate little by little. It was still there, of course – a slick burning that seemed only to worsen as Cain went deeper and deeper – but it was less prominent if he concentrated on the meaning of their actions rather than the actions themselves.

Because what did this mean? Was it just two men caught in the moment? Desperation? Want? Need? Lust? Or was it something more? Something that would last once they returned to the palace? . . . _If_ they returned to the palace. What if something happened to them? What if something went terribly wrong? What if . . . What if they just decided not to go back?

Would Cain mind spending the rest of his days with Ambrose? They could be happy, the two of them. Ambrose could make sure of that.

_No_, the inventor thought sadly, holding tighter to the tin man. _Cain has a family, a son. And I belong to the palace, to the queen and every queen that comes after her. I will never-_

Ambrose gasped, arching as a shock wave of pleasure erupted up his spine. "Cain," he breathed heavily, tightening his hold on the other man and capturing his lips with his own.

Pain no longer existed. The bark of the tree clawing at his back, Cain stretching him farther than should be possible, the contortions his body was suffering; they all melted away as the tin man steadily slid in and out of him, pressing harder and deeper with every electric stroke. They just didn't matter anymore – not with the look Cain was giving him, the fire that burned in the center of those ice-like blues.

Cain couldn't believe this was happening. He almost didn't want to. What would Adora think?

_Gods, don't think of her now!_ He scolded himself, burying his face in the crook of Ambrose's neck as his pace began to quicken. But the inventor would not be denied this moment, a moment he had anticipated but never dreamed possible since he had met the man and knew was most likely a one-time event. He knew Cain was hurting, was thinking he was betraying his beloved Adora. And while Ambrose would never do anything to sully her name, it was time for Cain to move on. Adora would have wanted him to be happy, not to mourn her the rest of his life.

Ambrose strung his fingers through the tin man's short, pale hair, murmuring soothing words into his ear as he stifled the painful grunts that came with each strengthened thrust.

"Shh, Wyatt," he consoled softly, relieved when the other man seemed to gentle a bit. "Take it easy. We have time. No need to rush."

Cain panted heavily against Ambrose's neck, the salty bitterness of the man's sweat mixed with the sweetness of apples washing over his tongue. Ambrose always seemed to smell of apples, and Cain was delightfully surprised to find that he tasted of them too.

The tin man could feel himself building, and he gasped Ambrose's name, coming a few strokes later. The inventor followed quickly after, mouth open as he panted heavily. Cain's legs gave out, and the both of them toppled to the ground, Ambrose straddling the tin man's lap. The blond's arms came around the inventor's back, holding him tightly as he rested his forehead against Ambrose's shoulder. Oh, he could feel his age coming to haunt him – throbbing muscles, aching joints, overwhelming fatigue. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep for the next annual . . . but there was still one thing he had to know.

"Ambrose," he wheezed, lifting his head and looking into a pair of satiated brown eyes.

"Cain, that was amazing," the inventor panted, smiling widely and capturing Cain's lips in a kiss of gratitude. The tin man smiled, nodding his agreement.

Now he could sleep . . . Well, maybe after he found his clothes.

AN: And there you have it! I might post the next chapter since this one was so short... Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)


	9. Day the Fifth Part One

AN: As promised, here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the last! Only a few more chapters to go! I can't believe it!

_Chapter Nine:_

Cain was cold – odd, considering he had fallen asleep with a very warm inventor in his arms . . . Oh. That was right.

The tin man sat up abruptly, glancing around and shivering. The fire was dead, a sole ember fading with a hiss and a wisp of smoke. The sky was a distressing gray, and Ambrose was no where to be found.

Cain stood, his clothes wet with morning dew and sticking to his skin uncomfortably. "Ambrose?" He called uncertainly, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. No reply came, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. "Ambrose!" He tried again, receiving the same result.

He held his breath, trying to calm himself. There was really no sense in riling himself up. Ambrose was probably out getting breakfast. He'd most likely be back any minute with arms cradling a dozen or so assorted fruits. There was no use worrying if there really wasn't anything to worry about . . . yet.

Several birds flew by overhead, screeching with what Cain could only assume was fear. His breath hitched as he stared in the direction the birds had come from, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. He took a hesitant step, not sure he wanted to find what had scared those birds so badly.

Ten minutes later found Cain still trekking through thick brush, wondering if he should turn back. Ambrose might be back at the camp, safe and sound and complaining that the tin man had wandered off. The sound that reached his ears next, however, drained all hope from that thought. It was a frustrated cry – in a very familiar tone.

"Ambrose?" He called loudly, swiveling his head and holding his breath in anticipation. A pregnant pause wafted in the air, and the tin man's shoulders sank with resignation.

"C-Cain?" A pained voice called, suddenly, and the blond's heart thundered in his chest.

"Ambrose! Where are you?" Cain demanded, turning slowly on his heels in a full circle. He growled when the other man didn't seem to be in sight.

"I . . ." There was an uncertainty in the inventor's tone, a distance that meant he might be in serious trouble.

"Ambrose, stay with me!" The tin man ordered, worry making his voice tremble. "Just keep talking! I'll follow your voice."

"Cain, I . . . I don't know what happened." Ambrose's voice was strained, almost too hard to hear, but Cain found the general direction that it was coming from and started towards it with a determined stride. "I'm caught. I can't move. There's . . . There's a lot of blood."

This only heightened the tin man's worry, and he started to run. Ambrose wasn't talking anymore, and Cain was about to shout to him again when the other man came into view. The sight twisted his stomach, and he nearly tripped as his motor functions failed him momentarily.

Ambrose sat amongst scattered, red-spattered leaves. His arms and chest and face were laden with garish gashes, his left leg caught mercilessly in a bear trap. The inventor's head was lowered towards his chest, his bloodied fingers curled around each side of the trap as his arms strained with effort. He managed to pry the jagged-toothed object open about half an inch before his strength failed and he had to let it shut on his leg again. He whimpered, raising his head as Cain collapsed to his knees beside him.

The tin man took in the tear-stained cheeks, the mangled shin and calf, the blood – gods, the blood – and let loose an anguished breath of air.

"Wh-" He swallowed and tried again. "What happened?" He carefully inspected the trap, looking for the release.

"There was a bear," Ambrose slurred with a trembling voice, sighing in relief as he lay back against the blood-soaked leaves, his trapped leg propped up. He was getting tired, but falling asleep would not help either of them at the moment. "I-I tried to fight him off with a stick. He got in a few swipes before I accidentally stepped in the trap. M-Must've scared him off."

Cain paused in his search. Not one word of that explanation had sounded like Ambrose. Glitch was most definitely shining through. And, strangely, it made quite a bit of sense. After a trauma such as that, who would rightfully want to be themself?

The tin man found the release and attempted to trigger it.

"It's broken," came the inventor's small reply. "And rusted. The hunter who set it probably forgot about it a long time ago."

Cain sighed in frustration, unconsciously reaching for his hat and finding it missing. He must have forgotten it back at the camp or lost it in his frenzied haste to get to the injured inventor.

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it loose slowly as a plan formed in his mind. He'd seen plenty of men – and, on several horrible occasions, children – get caught in these kinds of traps before. _None so bad off as Ambrose, though,_ Cain thought. "I'm going to pry it open as wide as I can. As soon as you can move your leg, I want you to pull it out and roll away. Got it?"

Ambrose nodded sluggishly.

"Hey," the tin man said softly, placing his palm against the inventor's unmarred cheek. "You with me?"

Ambrose nodded again, this time more firmly. Cain returned the gesture wiping the sweat from his forehead and positioning his hands on either side of the trap.

"One," he counted, his eyes locking with Ambrose's tired ones. "Two." The inventor sucked in a breath, grasping his thigh just above his knee, ready to pull his leg from the trap. "_Three_." Cain strained, his face contorting. It took nearly all his strength to get the trap open the half-inch that Ambrose had accomplished before his arrival. His muscles trembled with the exertion, but he kept on, pulling until the trap was wide enough for the other man to remove his leg.

The sickening sound of the trap's gnarled teeth ripping away flesh and muscle was almost too much to bear – for either of them. Ambrose whimpered and closed his eyes but was able to tug what was left of his leg free. He clawed at the bloodied leaves and dew-laced dirt desperately, getting as far away from the trap as he could. Cain leaned back some, releasing the trap when he was sure the other man was far enough away from it. The rusted contraption snapped violently, kicking up several leaves and almost taking a couple of the tin man's fingers with it.

Cain was up and crouched over Ambrose immediately, trembling hands fluttering over gaping wounds. "Oh, Ambrose, I'm so sorry," the blond said huskily, shaking his head. "I should have been here. I should have . . ."

Ambrose grasped Cain's hand weakly, drawing in a shuddering breath and mustering up a watery smile. "This . . . is not your fault."

Cain swallowed and nodded, opting to give Ambrose his way for the moment. There were more important things to worry about. He looked around, furrowing his brow. "I think there might be a village near here. We can get help."

"I don't think I can move," Ambrose admitted, his frail form beginning to shake. "It's . . . cold."

"You've lost a lot of blood," Cain pointed out unnecessarily. "I don't think I can chance leaving you here to go for help by myself."

Ambrose sighed. "Which means I have to move."

"Sorry," the tin man apologized with a grimace. "I can carry you. It won't be comfortable, but at least you won't have to walk."

Ambrose nodded reluctantly.

0 o 0 o 0

The journey was bumpy and much too slow for either of their likings, but Cain trekked on with determination, Ambrose's questionably light weight pressed against his back. The inventor's arms circled Cain's shoulders, his grip losing strength with every passing moment, and the tin man's arms were looped around and under Ambrose's knees, holding him in place and wary of his injured leg.

"Are you-" Ambrose cut off abruptly as Cain nearly tripped on a patch of jagged rocks. The inventor hissed, burying his face at the base of the tin man's neck to stifle a groan.

"Sorry," Cain said sincerely, wincing as the other man's bloodied fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt tightly. "You all right?"

Ambrose took a deep breath and nodded. "Are you sure there's a village near here?"

"Yea. Just another mile."

"You said that two miles ago," the inventor sighed with exhaustion.

"Well, I mean it this time," the tin man promised, carefully hitching the man up.

"You said that _three_ miles ago," Ambrose slurred, closing his eyes and resting his uninjured cheek against the man's broad shoulder. He could feel the muscles beneath strain and stretch with every step he took. It was oddly relaxing, and he could feel himself drifting off.

"Hey!" Cain jolted him back to consciousness. "You can't sleep just yet. Not until we reach the village and they check you out."

"And what if there is no village?" The inventor snapped without meaning to. "What if they don't have a doctor? What if I die before we-"

"Ambrose, just shut your mouth, would you?" Cain huffed angrily. "You can't die if you're immortal, right?"

"I beg to differ," Ambrose murmured quietly, soft enough to make it seem like a private thought but loud enough for the other man to hear.

Cain sighed, stopping for a moment and hitching the man up again. "Listen," he said as calmly as he could muster, "the brush is less dense around here, the trees are thinning out, and I haven't seen a trap for a quarter of a mile. There _has_ to be a village near by. Okay?"

Ambrose was quiet, and Cain feared he had passed out until the inventor's thin voice said, "Okay."

True to the tin man's word, smoke appeared above them as they traveled further in the direction that Cain was dead-set on. He kept the _I told you so_ to himself as Ambrose's breathing became erratic. Every in- and exhale was filled with a liquid-like squishing sound.

"Just hang in there," Cain said breathlessly, eying the rather steep hill that stood between him and the village with contempt. He planted his feet, one after the other, making sure he had a good hold on both the loose dirt under his boots and the passenger on his back. Before long, he had reached the top without a single mishap. He stopped and took a deep breath, releasing it in a rushed gust of air. He couldn't help the smile of relief that took his lips. There stood the small village he had known was there – but had prayed for nonetheless.

"We're here," he said with a deep sigh. Ambrose didn't reply.

AN: Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	10. Day the Fifth Part Two

The village was much smaller than Cain had anticipated, sporting only a grocery store and a few indeterminable buildings. The tin man suspected that the actual homes were hidden behind the trees surrounding the area.

It didn't take long for the two of them to be noticed. It was sometime after mid-day, and Cain guessed that nearly the entire village was out and about.

Many of them gaped or whispered, and some of the women gasped, clinging to their children and their husbands. Only one person ventured towards them – a young man no older than Jeb.

"Mister, you all right?" He asked cautiously, looking between him and the man slung lifelessly over his back.

"My friend needs a doctor," Cain panted, his knees shaking badly. Several men rushed forward, gently relieving the tin man of his burden. The young man that had first approached him placed his shoulder under Cain's arm, helping him along as two others carried Ambrose, another two clearing a path through the growing crowd.

"Where are you fellas from? It's a long way from the next town, and looks to me you were headed in from the darklands," the young man said conversationally, curiosity shining in his eyes. He definitely had Jeb's spirit – always wanting to be anywhere but the place he was in.

"We're from the palace, on our way back," Cain explained wearily, and the young man's eyes widened.

"The palace? Really?" He asked with excitement. "Do you know the queen? Have you met her? And the princesses? Is Princess Azkadellia really not evil anymore? And Princess DG sure is pretty. I've seen her picture a couple of times in Central City." He craned his neck to give the tin man a grin, his brows furrowing as he studied him more carefully. "Ain't I seen you somewhere before, Mister?"

"Jeremiah Lynch, if you ask that man one more question, I will take you out of this world just as messily as I brought you in," a craggy voice scolded from ahead of them. They both looked to find an old man with a wooden, splintered cane standing on the stoop of what appeared to be the local doctor's office and glaring daggers at the young man.

"Sorry, Doc," the kid says sheepishly, helping Cain up the stairs.

"Inside with you," the doctor points his walking stick towards the door, shuffling in after them. "Don't get much of your kind out here anymore. Not since the witch melted, anyway."

"My kind?" Cain asked with a wince as Jeremiah helped him to a chair. It was white, like the rest of the room. The blond man didn't like it much.

"Tin men," the other replied with confidence, nodding once to emphasize his point.

"A tin man?" Jeremiah's eyes grew round again as he looked at Cain. "A real one? Like Wyatt Cain? Captain of all the tin men?" The doctor turned away, shaking his head and snorting.

"Yea," Cain nodded with a strained smile. "Just like Wyatt Cain."

"Wow," the young man whispered, a somewhat dreamy expression taking his face.

"You can ogle him later, Mister Lynch," the doctor said loudly, banging his cane against the floor.

"But, Doc, he knows-"

"Later!" The old man insisted firmly. "Right now, I need to have a talk with our guest, and you need to go see the book keeper and ask him for the big book." Jeremiah's eyebrows rose, but he nodded quickly, leaving in a rush. "Now then," the doctor dragged a chair over, plopping down with a grunt and eyeing him critically, "we have some things to talk about."

"Is my friend all right? Shouldn't you be looking at him?" Cain questioned desperately.

The doctor held up a patient hand. "He's in good hands right now. As soon as he's cleaned up, I'll have a look at him." The tin man visibly relaxed, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "The men who brought him in said you came from the edge of our fine village."

"That's right," Cain confirmed.

"Not much out there but woods and animals," the doctor points out, watching the tin man's reaction carefully.

Cain merely nodded, knowing he was being tested but far too tired to care why. "Bears."

"Is that what got ya?"

"Got him," the tin man explained. "I got there too late. He . . . backed into a trap. His leg is . . ." Cain couldn't finish.

The doctor nodded slowly, considering the man's words. He'd seen too many people – many of those from the village – who'd been the victims of tin men, and not necessarily the tin men under Azkadellia's rule. "You seem like an honorable man, Mister Cain. But it perplexes me how you and that man in there came to be traveling with one another."

"Why is that?" The tin man inquired drowsily, wanting nothing more than to find a warm, cozy bed to sleep in. The doctor's next words, however, managed to acquire his full attention.

"Because no one has seen that man around here for close to five-hundred years."

0 o 0 o 0

Jeremiah knew as soon as the doctor had asked for the big book that something was up. And when he walked in on the doctor and the newcomer, book in hand, he knew their silence said a whole lot more than it would if they had been talking.

"Five-hundred?" Cain murmured softly. When Ambrose had mentioned he had been around for a long time, five-hundred years had been the furthest thing from his mind. Not to mention the fact that it didn't include the number of years he had lived in the village to begin with.

"Doc?" Jeremiah said softly, stepping forward and holding up the rather heavy book.

"Thank you, Mister Lynch. If you'll just set it on the table."

Jeremiah did so and wiped sweaty palms on his fading brown pants. He shifted nervously, staring at the tin man.

"Something you'd like to ask our friend?" The old man inquired with feigned curiosity. Cain grimaced. He didn't think he could stand being questioned any further but swallowed hard and gave the boy as much attention as he could.

"Uh," Jeremiah stammered, swallowing and clearing his throat. "Uh. . . I, um . . . No." He quickly ducked his head and made his way towards the front door. "I'll see you later, Doc." He stumbled down the stairs of the porch and disappeared.

Cain was grateful, if only for a moment. The old man was staring at him with a look he didn't think he liked.

"Somethin' you'd like to ask, Doc?" The tin man inquired a little less politely than he'd intended. But the doctor seemed unfazed.

"Your friend," he grunted, nodding towards the door at the back of the room. "He's dangerous. You sure you know what you're getting into?"

"Listen, Mister," Cain leaned forward in his chair, a hard look on his face and fire in his eyes, "that man in there is one of the reasons the O.Z. is getting back to normal. The witch lost her power because of him."

"The witch was given power because of him," the doctor countered harshly.

Cain growled, standing and leaning into the man's face. "You don't know what you're talking about, Doc, so just shut up and make him better so we can be on our way."

The old man snorted, thumping his cane on the floor once and narrowing his eyes. "You don't intimidate me, sonny. Now sit down and be quiet. I'm not looking for a fight. I just want you to listen."

Cain eyed the doctor skeptically before reluctantly complying.

"He invented some very nasty things, Mister Cain," the doctor said cautiously, studying the tin man carefully. "For a long time he was thought to be an evil wizard, making torture devices in the very house his parents died in. Some claimed that he was being possessed by the angry spirit of his deceased father, tormented by the fact that his son had killed him."

Cain was taken aback. "Ambrose didn't . . . He couldn't, have . . ."

"Are you so certain?" The old man questioned skeptically.

Cain furrowed his eyebrows, nodding determinedly. "I'm sure. He could never do something like that." But a seed of doubt had been sown in the tin man's mind. How much did he really know about Ambrose? He knew what the inventor had told him, but how truthful would one be – could one be – if their past was seen as questionable? Shaky? Or, dare it be said, evil?

"He didn't mention where the elves found him, did he?" The doctor asked curiously, offering the man a sly look.

Cain hesitantly shook his head, staring at the doctor with a mixture of curiosity and an insatiable need to know. "How do you-"

"The inventor is a part of our folklore, Mister Cain. It would stand to reason that he had a story of his own." Cain went silent, waiting for the man to continue. "The elves were said to be in need of a child that could absorb the abilities of those around them and use those abilities for dark purposes."

Cain felt like a child again, holding his breath as his grandmother spun the most intricate tales. The doctor lifted the heavy cover of the thick book, revealing a page almost entirely blotted out with black ink. Figures and shapes stood out starkly in bright silver lines and swirls, despite the book's age. The figures had sharp teeth, gnarled claws, and narrowed, beady eyes. The tin man realized that the shapes on the page weren't merely figures. They were monsters. And there was only one place in all of the O.Z. Where monsters existed.

"Ambrose is from the darklands," Cain whispered with an almost accusatory tone.

The doctor nodded. "The elves kidnapped a young woman from a nearby village and took her away to the darkness, where she was tortured and raped for many, many years by the creatures of the dark." Cain looked down at his hands, finding them clenching the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled embrace.

"But he's human," he protested weakly. "Ambrose is human. He looks . . . human."

"Of course he does," the old man agreed. "The monsters in the darklands have no shape. They are made up of fear and nightmares."

Cain shivered, closing his eyes and picturing the monsters that took his great-grandmother's brother. They were shadow, blackness, swallowing land and people and animals alike, thrusting them into eternal darkness, where the only things that met their screams were low, haunting cackles. Eyes peered from every direction, large and owlish and accompanied by wide-toothed grins and the constant sound of scratching and the ripping of skin.

Cain opened his eyes with a start, breathing hard.

"You all right, Mister Cain?" The doctor asked, a look of concern adorning his face.

"F-Fine," the tin man stuttered, wiping his brow. "What happened to the woman?"

"She became with child, and when the baby was born, the elves came and took it away before the dark things could get to it." He looked very sad then. "And they killed her."

"The monsters?"

The man shook his head. "The elves." Cain looked surprised. "Whether out of malice or sympathy, no one knows. But she died, and the elves took the babe away to their kingdom." The doctor leaned back some. "I'm sure you've heard the rest."

Cain nodded.

"That boy was born with dark in his heart, Mister Cain, and a dark soul to go with it. He may not know it, but he is capable of a great evil – more powerful than Azkadellia and the royal family put together."

Cain did not want to believe it. He knew he couldn't – knew he shouldn't. But for some reason it nagged at him, wiggled into the back of his mind and settled in the warm recesses, content to stay exactly where it was.

And Cain felt absolutely horrible for it. He'd known Ambrose for quite a while – Glitch for quite a while longer – and all it took to shake his faith in the other was a story from a decrepit old man and a very large book.

"It was found," the doctor started, "after the inventor left to serve the royal family." He closed it, running the pads of his fingers along the spine and over the delicate designs on the cover. It was red, or used to be anyway. Really it was more of a rusty brown than anything. And the design on the front was intricate and smooth, a number of swirls and nonsense patterns etched into a thick, leather-like fabric – probably made by Ambrose himself.

"There are a great deal of things in this book," the old man continued dazedly. "Invention designs that no one has been able to duplicate, drawings with the most livid details . . . and dark thoughts, nightmares that have kept him awake for weeks at a time." He swallowed and sighed. "A very old and tormented soul in a very young-looking man."

Cain's jaw muscles rippled as he ground his teeth. "I'd like to see him now." The doctor looked up, shaken from his revere, and nodded.

"Of course," he said quietly, standing on weary legs with the help of his cane. The tin man followed suit, allowing the doctor to lead him into another room just as brazenly white as the first. The brightness was beginning to hurt Cain's eyes.

An old woman – the doctor's wife – was bent over a very sickly-looking Ambrose, who was lying on a cot with blood-soaked blankets and sheets; the only color in the room. His form was devoid of any signs of dried blood, but his skin was still pale and clammy. He was shivering and breathing hard, moaning and muttering incoherently. The woman looked up as they entered, a stern, determined look on her face.

"I've stopped the bleeding," she said softly, a wet cloth clutched in her right hand. "But he may need more than we can give him."

The man beside Cain nodded thoughtfully, stepping forward and beginning to examine the inventor himself. "His wounds are deep. He's lost too much blood. We may need to summon a healer."

"You know how wary they are," the woman scolded, clucking her tone and using the cloth in her hand to wipe the sweat from Ambrose's forehead. "They know the stories just as well as we do. And the inventions were used against their people more than anyone. We'd be lucky to get any word to them at all."

"I can get word to them," Cain said bluntly, breathlessly, his eyes never leaving Ambrose. The married couple looked up at him, their expressions stating they'd almost forgotten he was there to begin with. He swallowed hard and repeated himself. "I can get word to them. I know a healer."

"Their village is a good seventy miles south," the doctor explained as if in warning. "Even with our fastest horse, you might not be back until morning."

"I can make it back by sundown," the tin man promised. "All I need is a horse." The doctor eyed him skeptically, nodding finally and leading him back out the way they had come.

0 o 0 o 0

The horse the village had been able to offer was a far cry from Cain's own horse back at the palace, but it would have to do. He wasn't making the best time either. Cain had already been forced to stop a few times to rest the equestrian, taking the time to survey the surroundings and make sure he was still headed in the right direction. There had been a dirt path the first few miles out of the village, but after that, nothing but forest and rocky ground. The tin man was still surrounded by trees, which slowed his pace rather annoyingly.

The horse whinnied behind him, and Cain cast him a fleeting glance. "Yea, I feel your pain."

Before long, he was off again, skirting around trees as quickly and as carefully as possible. Fortunately, the horse seemed used to the constant dodging and needed little assistance to weave his way through the forest.

Cain figured it couldn't be more than another mile or two to the healers' village, but the suns were already approaching the horizon at a distressingly fast rate. The tin man feared he may not be able to keep his promise.

A low growl, suddenly, sounded on his left, and he was knocked to the ground, his vision blurring before starting to gray. Before he completely blacked out, he heard voices above him, low and grumbling.

"Human?"

A furry face swam in his limited vision, and a nose sniffed him distastefully. "Tin man," the voice that belonged to the face spat. A pause, then a hesitant, "Knows Raw."

Cain heard no more after that.

AN: So... I'm not exactly happy with the flow of this chapter... I'm really kind of disappointed with it. But I s'pose it'll do. I wish I could have gotten more in this chapter, or at least added a few details that I wanted... But no more whining!!

And holy freakin' crap, I totally did not know this before I started writing this, peeps, I swear!!!

Am·brose [am-brohz]

–noun 1. Saint, a.d. 340–397, bishop of Milan 374–397.

2. a male given name: from a Greek word meaning "immortal."

Yup, that's right. BOOYAH!!! My subconscious had a hayday after I read this. :D


	11. Day the Sixth Part One

AN: Okay, so I realized that I have this story finished on LiveJournal and not on this site, so here are the final three chapters of this story. So sorry for the long wait! Hope it hasn't been long enough to shake you from reading! Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven:

Cain woke sluggishly, his mind taking a moment to process the situation at hand. He'd been on a horse, riding from something . . . No, _to_ something. The . . . healers? Why would he be riding to the–

And then it struck him. Ambrose was hurt, was probably dying. Cain didn't have time to be thinking about what was going on. He needed to get back to the inventor, no matter what it took.

The tin man sat up abruptly, only to be pushed back down onto something soft by warm hands. "Please," he begged weakly, unable to open his eyes, "please, my friend is hurt. I need to get back to him. I need a healer. He . . . He might . . ."

A comforting hand stroked his hair. "Rest, Cain," a very familiar voice said softly.

Cain squinted his eyes open, looking up into the face of a concerned friend. "Raw?" He asked slowly, his head throbbing somewhat. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at the palace."

"Family need help rebuilding," Raw explained quietly, carefully. He soothed the tin man's headache some, and the blond relaxed a bit more. "Palace worried."

"I'm a bit worried myself," Cain admitted drowsily. "Ambrose . . . He's in trouble."

"Hurt bad," Raw agreed with furrowed eyebrows. "Sent help."

"Yet sent someone?" Cain asked hopefully, opening his eyes again and watching as Raw nodded in confirmation. "Good . . . What time is it?"

"Morning."

Cain tried to sit up again, fighting against Raw's grasp to no avail. "When did you send help? We have to go!"

"Sent help last night," the healer said, firmly pressing Cain back against the make-shift bed of various fabrics and leaves. "Ambrose probably fine now. Cain need rest."

The tin man would have liked to disagree with Raw – oh, he would have liked to very much – but his body, unfortunately, seemed in cahoots with the healer, and he found himself slipping into a deep and comforting sleep.

0 o 0 o 0

Raw could sense the worry emanating off of his friend, even as the tin man slept. He knew the danger that Ambrose was in just by _looking_ at Cain. And he could also sense that the bond between Ambrose and Cain had deepened considerably. He really did not want to delve any further than that. The memories that the tin man kept hidden were private, and Raw had never been one to stick his nose where it didn't belong – or so he liked to think.

He certainly hoped that Ambrose was doing well. It had taken a lot of convincing to get one of his own to go to the village. He couldn't imagine how his people would react if they knew who Ambrose _really_ was. Raw had seen a great many things when he had attached himself to the inventor's memories.

Truth be told, the man scared him. He had always been afraid of the unknown, but Ambrose made all of those things look so small in comparison. And Raw did not like it one bit – being ashamed of being afraid of such minuscule things and being afraid of one of his very good friends. But he felt the fear deep inside of Cain too and knew he wasn't alone.

Ambrose was frightening, but he was also a friend. And friendship would always come before fear.

0 o 0 o 0

Ambrose arched under the healer's touch, gasping and shuddering. The healer – a childhood friend of Raw named Mema – grunted his frustration and tried to hold down the man as securely as possible. He expertly blocked the memories surging towards his consciousness, wary of the warning Raw had given him. He had not mentioned why this human was dangerous, only that a great darkness lay within him and that he should protect himself, lest the darkness take him too. Mema was a curious creature but not unintelligent. He knew when curiosity could get the better of him.

"Is it working?" A voice whispered beside him. Mema sighed with annoyance, not because of the question, per say, but because of the number of times it had been asked since his arrival. Jeremiah was just as curious as the healer and possibly ten-times as vocal. The young man hadn't taken his eyes off of him since he'd started to heal Ambrose, and Mema was seriously considering having him removed from the room.

"Works faster if Mema concentrates," he replied instead, his tone steady and patient.

"Are you concentrating?" Jeremiah inquired with interest, looking sheepish when Mema shot him a pointed look. "Oh. Sorry."

The healer snorted and returned to his work. A while later, he lowered his hands, sighing with exhaustion and satisfaction.

"You're finished?" Jeremiah asked with wide eyes, looking Ambrose up and down.

Mema nodded. "Physical healing done." All that was left was mental and emotional. But Mema couldn't help with those things. However, he had a feeling that the strange tin man he had tackled the day before would be able to . . . at least he hoped so.

0 o 0 o 0

Ambrose drew in a deep breath before he opened his eyes. He knew that scent. He'd smelled it for too many years, in his childhood and his adulthood. It was a woody-pine sort of smell with the distinct flavor of earth and mulch and domesticated animals.

This was home. And he didn't know whether to feel at ease or frightened.

0 o 0 o 0

"Jeremiah, will you check on our patient? See if he's awake yet?" The doctor asked the young man as his wife poured tea into small, white porcelain cups. Mema sniffed his cup skeptically before taking a cautious sip and shuddering with disgust. As Jeremiah stood, he slid the milk and sugar towards the healer.

"Try these," he whispered with a smile before heading to the door at the other end of the room. Mema sniffed at both before heaping a good portion of each into his cup and smiling satisfactorily at the result.

"Uh, Doc?" Jeremiah's hesitant voice echoed into the room. "I think he's up."

The doctor stood and started in the direction of the door. "Well, let's have a look at him."

Jeremiah appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "H-He's gone," he stuttered, and the old man pushed past him quickly. The room was empty, save for the balled-up blanket at the end of the recently-vacated cot.

The doctor sighed. "Go spread word."

"What do we tell them?" The young man asked, not wanting the newcomer to get hurt.

"Just say that the stranger is missing and that he might still be injured." He paused for a moment before adding, "And that he isn't dangerous, just confused and probably scared."

Jeremiah nodded and went to relay the message to the village.

0 o 0 o 0

Cain wanted nothing more than to race back to the village, but under Raw's firm insistence, the two made the journey at a moderate pace, the tin man on the horse that the village had let him use and the healer on one from the palace. They would most certainly never make it before mid-day.

While Cain was busy brooding, however, Raw was leading them towards flatter ground. It wasn't necessarily a short cut, but the going would be quicker without trees and rocks to dodge.

Just after mid-day, the village came within sight, and Cain was too relieved to wonder how they had gotten there so quickly.

0 o 0 o 0

"What do you mean he's missing?" Cain demanded angrily, glaring at the doctor. His eyes were red from exhaustion, but with the way he was fuming, anyone would have thought they were red with fury. The old man stared back at him calmly. He'd dealt with far too much in his life to be intimidated by a silly tin man with a silly crush on a silly – and missing – inventor.

"M-Mister?" Jeremiah took a feeble step forward, and Cain pinned him with the same glare. The young man swallowed audibly before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Uh, he was just . . . gone. I went to check on him, and he wasn't there." Cain's look did not waver. "W-We've got the whole village looking for him. He couldn't have gone too far. We'll find him eventually."

"And then what?" The tin man spat, turning his rage back onto the doctor as Jeremiah flinched away. "You plan on bringing him back and making things better?" He scoffed and looked at the small group of people in front of him. "No wonder he left this place. You people are . . . _intolerable_!"

Jeremiah was the only one among them with the decency to look hurt.

"Well, Mister Cain, if you think so poorly of us, why aren't you out there looking for him?" The doctor asked matter-of-factly, his hands placed one over the other on his cane as he looked up at the tin man, who towered a good six inches over his hunched form.

"Because I don't need to look for him!" Cain bellowed, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "I already know where he is!"

"You do?" Jeremiah asked curiously, forgetting the insult and the fact that _the_ Wyatt Cain was standing in front of him.

"Yes," the tin man said, crossing his arms confidently. "The only place no one in this village will dare go near."

Jeremiah's eyes widen. "You mean . . ."

"He's gone home," the doctor sighed sadly.

0 o 0 o 0

"It's just down this path, here," Jeremiah pointed down a dirt road that looked like it hadn't been used in years. In fact, the path was barely visible through the grass and brush that had slowly taken over it.

Cain had demanded a guide to take him and Raw to Ambrose's house, and Jeremiah had readily accepted, eager to please the man now that he knew who he was.

"You're really Wyatt Cain?" The young man asked shyly, leading them through a patch of knee-height brush. "_The_ Wyatt Cain?"

"Yes," the tin man said for possibly the dozenth time. He was getting tired of answering that question.

He gently stroked the brim of his hat with the pads of his fingers. Someone in the village had been sent to corroborate Cain's story and had found his beloved hat. There would have been a longer reunion had the situation not been somewhat dire – and were it not for the fact that Cain could clearly picture Ambrose and DG taunting him about his "hat fetish." The tin man absolutely and outright denied that he had an unhealthy obsession with his hat . . . The two had merely been through a lot together – thought the simple fact that he referred to himself and his hat as "the two" should have tipped him off.

"Wow," Jeremiah breathed, a silly smile on his lips. "That's just . . . Wow." He laughed almost hysterically. "I can't believe . . . Wow."

Finally, the house came within sight, and Cain had to stop for a moment to take it in.

The house was not merely large. It was gargantuan, at least four stories, and a small tower-like room protruded from the very top. Paint had long given up trying to linger on the now moldy, gray planks of wood that constructed the house, though flecks of white glimmered here and there. Vines grew up against the sides, slithering along the gutters and bursting through holes and cracks. The windows were, oddly, intact, though several rocks lay at the base of the house, indicating that many people had at least attempted to shatter them. And a strange mist snaked its way through the surprisingly green grass, curling around the house as if it were a protective barrier. Cain had no doubt in his mind that it was.

"Still here," Raw stated softly, a hint of astonishment in his tone.

"Not surprising," the tin man commented loosely.

"Hasn't changed in centuries," the young man replied softly, as if he was afraid he might wake some sleeping beast. Cain couldn't deny that the feeling lay like a stone in his stomach as well.

The air was somehow thicker, laced with an energy so palpable it was as if they were walking through mud. It made some kind of sense, Cain supposed. Ambrose had been touched with the magic of the elves, and it was bound to rub off on anything he spent a decent amount of time around.

"Jeremiah, you wait out here," Cain instructed, starting towards the house with a determined stride, Raw at his heels. The young man didn't protest, finding a splintered tree stump to sit on.

Cain swallowed hard as he and Raw stepped onto the porch, the wood creaking beneath their feet. The door was open – actually, it was hanging off of its hinges.

"Ambrose?" The tin man called inside, squinting into the dark, dusty interior. No reply came, and he sighed.

_So he's going to make this hard_, he thought, clenching his jaw and cautiously making his way into the house.

Very little light reached within, and Cain found it getting harder and harder to see as he and Raw ventured further inside.

"Ambrose?" He tried again, blinking several times and resisting the urge to sneeze as dust bombarded his senses.

"Ambrose lost," Raw commented quietly from behind him, placing a hand on the tin man's shoulder and leading him down the dim corridor ahead of them. The healer could see somewhat more efficiently than Cain, but only so much more that he could navigate a few feet in front of them. It made him rather wary. Usually his sight was far superior to that of other creatures – besides the elves, of course. But this house was strange, frightening . . . _bad_.

Raw could not think of a more fitting word than that.

"In his own house?" Cain questioned skeptically, grateful for the guidance. He stretched his right arm out, pressing his palm flat against the wall's surface, and using his left hand to feel for anything that might be ahead of them.

"Lost," Raw corrected, "in memories. Bad place for Ambrose. Not safe."

Cain silently agreed. "Can you tell if he's close by?"

"Upstairs," the healer said, looking up at the ceiling warily. "Bad place. Must hurry."

The stairs were tricky, especially in the dark, but the two managed rather well. They stood on the second floor, staring with bated breath at a door near the end of the hall, the only door with a faint light emanating from beneath it.

Cain turned his head slightly until a twitching nose appeared in his vision. "Bad place?" He asked with raised eyebrows.

Raw nodded in confirmation. "Bad place for Ambrose. Too many memories."

They started forward, taking more confident steps now that their way was visible. The glow was eerie, not anything like sunlight, and was splayed across the walls like giant fingers, rotating as if the fingers were slowly wiggling, itching to reach out and grab them.

Cain sucked in a shallow breath and swallowed hard as they stopped mere inches from the door, raising a fist and gently knocking. The door eased open as soon as his knuckles touched the oddly smooth wood, and both the tin man and the healer peeked inside.


	12. Day the Sixth Part Two

Chapter Twelve:

Ambrose had heard the first call of his name, had heard the stumbling downstairs and on the way up, and had even heard the murmurings in the hallway outside. And still he dared not move. Not from this place . . .

When the knock sounded, it was expected. When the door opened slightly, it was expected too. And for some reason the inventor had even expected Raw to be there with Cain when the door swung open all the way, and their curious, concerned faces appeared.

"Ambrose?" Cain asked, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes were far too busy sweeping the room to look at the other man just yet.

The walls were a faded pink, unicorns and other creatures painted in a deep purple along the top near the ceiling as a border of sorts. The source of the light sat on Ambrose's right – a small lamp covered by a spinning shade with animals cut into the fabric so that they danced in a circle along the walls; forever chasing but never catching one another. As Cain watched the figures coast along, he noticed that they did, in fact, move. The horses bucked and reared, kicking their legs wildly. The elephants swung their trunks from side to side, lifting them every now and again to soundlessly trumpet. The monkeys jumped restlessly from foot to foot, waving their long arms and shaking their heads so that their ears flapped.

Ambrose, himself, sat on a very small bed in one corner of the room, watching the animals come to life around him.

"Ambrose?" Cain tried again, this time more strongly. "What are you doing here? You should be resting."

"This was my sister's room," the inventor explained matter-of-factly, as if the question had pertained to his answer.

"Sister?" The tin man asked, ignoring the insistent squeeze of his shoulder. "You . . . You never mentioned a sister."

"She's another faerie tale, Cain," Ambrose sighed, smiling lightly as the elephant passed by. "Just like my entire life. It's one big story that just keeps getting passed down from one generation to another until it doesn't even resemble the truth anymore."

"Tell me the story, Ambrose," the tin man demanded, brushing off Raw's warning growl and striding towards the other man. He crouched in front of the inventor, studying him carefully and leaning in close. "Tell me."

Ambrose looked back with unseeing eyes, nodding absently. "It was once upon a time . . ."

0 o 0 o 0

_//. . . there was a small boy and his mother and father. They were somewhat of an odd family, but they fit together so perfectly that none of them could complain . . . or so it was thought._

_Because while it seemed they were very happy together, something was missing. Something terribly important. And none of them knew what . . . until she was born._

_The small boy was so happy to have a younger sister. No longer would he be alone when normal children went to school or played outside his house. He would have someone to talk to, someone to share secrets with from mother and father._

_But something unexpected happened. The new little sister was not fun to play with or share secrets with. She was small and loud and always hungry. She did not listen very well, and she always wanted to be heard. And the little boy soon grew very intolerant of his sister._

_When the girl was four years of age, the boy could stand her no longer and wished with all the power in his little heart that she would leave for a very long time to a place very far away._

_The boy never thought that his wish would come true, but when it did, he couldn't think of anything worse than wishing one's sister away. He tried to wish her back everyday. Even after he grew and grew and his parents died and faded into memories, he wished._

_Not until many years later, when he was on the brink of giving up, did his wish finally come true again. But she was young! No more than twenty years of age! Not only had he sent her somewhere very far, he had sent her to a different time entirely!_

_But times were dangerous. The evil witches of the east and west made things very difficult for everyone. And when the girl's house landed on one of the witches, many thought their troubles were over . . . everyone but the young man. He knew the witch of the west did not like her sister at all and would be quite happy to discover she was dead. But to learn that her sister's power was taken by a girl from the other side . . . Well, things would not be happy for very long._

_The young man raced to help his sister but found he wasn't needed. The good witch from the north was ready and waiting, offering her assistance with a wave of her wand. It was just as well, Ambrose thought. Who would want help from the brother who sent them away in the first place?_

_But the good witch had other plans. As soon as she sent the girl on her way, she appeared to him, asking him why he had wished her away to begin with._

_The young man did not know. He had been a foolish child with broken dreams and wanted nothing more than to fix everything and keep his sister safe, even if it meant she had to hate him._

_The good witch thought of something much better._

_The man found himself, quite suddenly, in a field of corn and not at all himself. He felt prickly and light and . . . stuck. His feet weren't even touching the ground! And no matter which way he twisted and turned, he couldn't seem to find a way to free himself. What was worse was that he couldn't remember what on earth he was doing up there, or where he was, or . . ._ who _he was._

_His memories were missing. Oh, if only he could find them . . . But how? And how could he be certain that he was missing any memories at all? What if he had always been like this? What if he was stuck here forever? No memories? No one to keep him company but the crows that didn't seem as afraid of him as they should be?_

_His thoughts were interrupted, suddenly, by the very faint sound of shoes tap-tap-tapping against the yellow brick road that stretched out for miles on either side of his cornfield. Could it be someone to come and rescue him? Or could it be the evil witch coming to set fire to him and his field?_

_Perhaps if he had been in his right mind – assuming he had one – he would have realized that witches flew on brooms and most certainly did not tap-tap-tap on yellow brick roads._

_But since he was not in his right mind, he decided to stay very still until he could find out whether this stranger was a friend . . . or an enemy._

_To his surprise, what he found was a young girl . . . a very familiar girl. She was pretty, and she had a strange little creature with her that made a lot of noise._ A lot _of noise. Maybe this girl was the witch in disguise . . . It wouldn't hurt just to play a trick or two, would it? A point in one direction here, a point in another direction there, and maybe a point in both directions. There, that should confuse that nasty old witch. Serves her right for pretending to be a defenseless young girl . . ._

_But she didn't seem very witch-like at all. In fact, she seemed very . . . lost. And frightened. And alone. Much like he was._

_And so he befriended her, this stranger from a far away land outside of the O.Z. Along their journey to the Emerald City, they met new friends: a rusted man of tin, left alone and without a heart, and a cowardly lion, who lacked the courage to leave the forest by himself._

_But together they had enough heart and courage to make it all the way to the city of green. The roads were dangerous, full of flying monkeys and sleep-inducing poppies. And even worse, when they finally reached the Emerald City, they were turned away by the cruel and frightening wizard, told that they could not receive a favor from the wizard without first doing something for_ him.

_After all, most favors – the really good ones, at least – require favors in return. And, by golly, were these some very big favors. But the wizard asked for far too much! How could they possibly bring this man – this_ wizard _– something that he, himself, could not get from the wicked witch:_

_Her broomstick._

_Surely without brains and heart and nerve there was no way to defeat the witch, let alone steal the one thing she never seemed to be without. But without the broomstick, they didn't stand a chance of getting what they'd come for. And it certainly wouldn't hurt to try . . . at least they hoped not._

_Before their plans could fully take form, the young girl was stolen away, the witch's monkeys taking her far from her three new friends . . . maybe too far._

_The witch's castle was possibly the most frightening place in the O.Z. It lay beyond the border, in the darkness . . . in the Shadowlands, where monsters of unmeasurable fright dwelled. The castle was guarded by hundreds of green soldiers, innocents of the O.Z. captured and experimented on, brainwashed to suit the witch's needs._

_But the three continued on, determined to save the young girl. And, finally, after soldier impersonations and being set on fire and melting the wicked witch to a puddle of nothing, the broomstick was theirs._

_Their return to the Emerald City was met with cheers and an uprising of absolute joy. No longer was the O.Z. plagued by the wicked witches. The people could live freely and without fear._

_But the wizard was still unmoved. He had not expected them to succeed, to return and demand the things he had promised. He had not expected such inferior beings to complete the impossible, to do what he could not._

_And so he denied them . . . until they learned his secret. He was not a wizard at all! He was just a man. A very old, very tired man. He had been locked away by himself for many years and had become bitter against the O.Z._

_But the young girl's persistence and the lion's courage and the tin man's compassion and the scarecrow's great knowledge changed him. And he was able to show them that what they thought they had lacked, they'd had all along._

_And with this revelation came the scarecrow's memories. He wasn't a scarecrow at all! He was a man . . . a man with a curse. Suddenly, he was not so happy to have the knowledge of his old life back. He would have been much happier being a bumbling, absent scarecrow than who he really was._

_He revealed himself, finally able to tell the girl who he truly was and why she had been sent away and what had happened to their parents. She listened and cried long-awaited tears, torn between her new home and the only one she had known._

_He awaited her hatred, the harsh words he knew were to come. And he knew he wouldn't blame her, would take her anger and accept whatever punishment she chose for him._

_He was so lost in these sad thoughts that when a pair of warm arms engulfed him in a loving embrace, he was startled beyond reciprocating the gesture._

_She was not angry. She did not hold a grudge against him. And she most certainly did not hate him. She was just so very happy that she had been home all along and that she had a family to share it with._

_The O.Z. was grateful to the siblings, asking them to step up and rule in the witches' stead – fairly and with great kindness._

_The young girl agreed readily, swearing her life to the people of the O.Z., but the young man – who was not so very young at all and who had seen the evils in the O.Z. as well as his own heart – was not so eager to take his place as ruler. In fact, it frightened him. What kind of evils would befall the kingdom were he to gain so much power so quickly?_

_He was not willing to take such a chance._

_So he left, no goodbyes to taint his escape. And he returned to the home he knew, the only home he'd ever had. Many years passed, and when word of his sister's death reached him, he mourned._

_It was then that the good witch of the north appeared to him, bearing many letters that his sister had written to him over the years. She had not known where to send them, and so they had accumulated, becoming many and filling nearly an entire room. It would take him weeks to read them all, maybe months – not that it mattered much; after all, he did have all the time he needed to read them._

_Before reading them, though, there was much to do. With the help of the good witch, the man created a place, a special place, where his sister could lay in peace, where all the heirs of the throne could one day lay in peace. He sealed her and the power of the O.Z. -- the prized green emerald – away forever, so that no one, not even himself, would be tempted to use its greatness for evil._

_Again, he shut himself away from the world, remaining in the house with nothing to keep him company but her letters and the sound of his inventions ticking and tocking away for eternity. Not until many, many years later, when a palace guard approached him and requested his presence on behalf of the queen did he re-emerge from the place his parents had built to keep him safe . . .//_

0 o 0 o 0

"This room," Raw said, looking around warily. He was not at all comfortable in this room. It was as if it was a place all its own, not at all a part of the O.Z. "It was hers."

"You left that part out of your first story," Cain stated matter-of-factly.

"I thought it best." Ambrose nodded, his voice very sad and very small.

"Your sister," the blond said, keeping their eyes locked and their hands clasped. "She was the first queen of the O.Z.? She was the first Dorothy Gale?"

"She is the Gray Gale," the inventor confirmed. "The very first faerie tale. And she will be the very last."

"So . . . the O.Z.," Cain started, his eyes getting wider as he pieced things together, ". . . the O.Z. is yours?" He swallowed hard. "What I mean is . . . If the O.Z. was given to the both of you, and your sister ruled and died, that would mean . . ."

"That the throne is rightfully mine?"Ambrose finished with amusement. He looked down and shook his head. "No. I gave up my right to her." At Cain's confused expression, the inventor elaborated. "A man with that much power can do a great many things . . . and a man with my power can only lead the O.Z. to an eternity of darkness and destruction."

"Ambrose, you're capable of so much more than that. You don't have to be known only for your darker aspects."

"Then why is it that those are the only things people see when they look at me? The witch knew I could make things like the sun-seeder and the tdesphtl and the iron suit, and she took them!"

"She twisted them."

"No," Ambrose cried helplessly, covering his face. "No, she saw how I could twist them, and she used it. She used my ideas, my dark thoughts."

"I don't believe that," Cain said firmly, snatching the inventor's wrists and forcing his hands away from his face.

"You don't know what I've done," Ambrose sobbed, tears leaving streaks in the dust and dirt caked on his cheeks. "You don't know who I was before . . . before . . ."

"Then tell me," the tin man whispered urgently, his face mere inches from the other man's. He glanced fleetingly at Raw, who stood silently across the room, watching them both with trepidation. He was nearly shivering, and his eyes shined with fear. "Show me."

Ambrose shook his head frantically, closing his eyes as Cain pressed their foreheads together.

"Show me," he pleaded, beckoning Raw closer. The healer complied warily, extending his trembling hands and placing one on Ambrose's head and the other on Cain's.

"I'm . . . I'm scared, Cain," the inventor whimpered, his head becoming fuzzy before his memories began to slither forward into his consciousness. He sucked in a deep breath, as did Cain.

"Me too," the tin man admitted before the assault of Ambrose's inner demons began.


	13. The Very, Very End

AN: This one's a long-un'. But it's the last chapter, and I had already planned on thirteen chapters, so the end got squished. So here it is. The very, very end of this horribly long journey. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen:

Darkness.

Cain was shrouded by cold, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end. This place . . . He had a bad feeling about this place. It was frightening . . . and familiar, like a story – no, a nightmare – come to life. Creatures stalked and slithered just beyond sight. He could sense them watching, waiting.

"Help," someone whispered from the dark. "Help me."

Cain blinked several times, attempting to focus on the voice. "Is someone there?"

"Help me," the voice wailed. It was a girl. She sounded frightened and lost and hurt. "Please, help me!" She was becoming more insistent, more hysterical.

"I'm here," Cain said as soothingly as possible, turning slowly in the darkness. His limbs were heavy, sluggish. The air was like mud, sliding down his throat and coating the inside of his lungs. He was suffocating, slow and painful breaths becoming shallow, harder to draw in.

Cold fingers grasped his hand, and he shivered, looking down to find a small girl, no older than five or six, holding a lantern that emanated a soft, yellow glow around them both. Her blonde hair was streaked with gray strands, the curled locks pulled into pigtails on either side of her head. Her eyes were a dull blue – a familiar blue – and her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her tattered dress – a faded moss green color – fell just below her knees, dirty-white trim lining the hem.

"I'm scared," she whispered, her fingers trembling in his own.

"Why?" Cain asked softly, his parental instincts taking over. He lowered himself to his knees, meeting the child eye-to-eye.

"I can't find my brother." She bit her lip and looked from left to right, her pigtails swinging and bouncing with the motion. "It's so dark. I think I'm lost."

A chill ran down Cain's spine, and he shuddered, squeezing her hand and offering a reassuring smile. "We'll find your brother. What's his name?"

"Jack," she said, and the tin man's chest tightened.

He swallowed hard, taking as deep a breath as he could. "And what's your name?"

The girl cocked her head at his odd behavior. "Jilly. Papa calls me Jilly Bean. You look like my papa. Do you know him? Did he send you to help me?" The little girl's voice was getting higher and higher by the second, hope evident in her tear-laced eyes.

"Yes," Cain lied, a little more easily than he would have liked but knowing the child needed to hear it. "Yes, your daddy sent me to take you and Jack home. He misses you."

"Mama too?" Jilly asked in a trembling voice.

"Mama too," Cain confirmed with a nod. "I made them a promise. You'll see them soon." The girl offered a watery smile and sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "Where was the last place you saw Jack?"

Jilly looked around, uncertainty twisting her lips into a frown. "It's too dark. I don't remember."

"Can you try?" The tin man urged, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him again, more tears streaming down her cheeks.

"We weren't supposed to. Mama told us to stay away, and I told Jack we would get in trouble, but he never listens to me," she said, somewhat inaudibly. "I'm too little. He doesn't do what I tell him, even if he gets in trouble."

"I know," Cain nodded, trying his best to be patient with her. "Big brothers can be mean sometimes. But you have to remember that he still loves you, no matter what. Now, we need to find Jack, and that means you have to tell me where you were when you lost him."

Jilly sniffled, taking a few frail breaths before saying, "We were at the wall. He wanted to go to the other side, to see what was there. I told him 'No,' but he went anyway, and I followed him so I could bring him back. But there was a scary man."

"A scary man?" Cain questioned, eyebrows furrowed. As far as he knew, there weren't any human beings living on the other side of the wall, none that he had been told about.

The girl nodded vigorously. "He had black hair and shiny eyes, and he smiled really big with big sharp teeth, and his monsters chased us away." She whimpered. "But we fell down a hill, and I lost the bucket that Mama gave me, and when we got to the bottom . . . Jack wouldn't move." She started to cry again. "I tried to make him get up, but the monsters were still coming, and I screamed and ran away. I left him! I left him with the monsters!" Jilly collapsed into Cain's arms, sobbing into his shoulder as he rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"It wasn't your fault," the tin man said. "You couldn't do anything. We'll find him. Everything will be all right."

The girl sniffled and nodded, taking hold of his hand as he stood again and giving him the lantern to guide them.

0 o 0 o 0

The wall stood at over twenty feet, smooth gray stones held together by nothing more than an enchantment that the very first Dorothy Gale had cast to keep her kingdom safe. Cain and the girl came upon a large opening in the wall, a v-shaped entrance—or exit, depending upon which side one was on—where the stones were cracked and broken. Someone, or something, had smashed their way through this wall, and the tin man was not at all certain he wanted to find out what.

"He's in there," the girl whispered, clenching Cain's hand tighter and easing herself behind him. "It's so dark. I wish Papa was here."

"Stay here," Cain ordered, starting toward the wall with the small lantern in hand. He glanced over his shoulder and gave the girl a reassuring smile before turning back to the wall with a grim look on his face. "Hello?" He called, stopping just short of the opening and squinting as he peered into the darkness. "Jack?"

A figure, suddenly, appeared before him, and he was startled, taking a step back. His eyes widened as he immediately recognized who was standing on the other side of the wall.

"Ambrose?" He asked cautiously, looking the man up and down. The air in his lungs felt like it was turning to dust. He could barely breathe. This man was different, much too different to be the Ambrose that Cain had come to know over the past several days. His eyes were black, they glimmered eerily from the small amount of light emanating from the lantern, and his hair was knotted and stringy, reminding Cain of cobwebs. The clothes that the Ambrose look-alike wore were the same that the tin man had first encountered Glitch in, a ratty and faded version of the palace garb, only these were gray, covered in grit and dirt.

Cain swallowed, taking a breath before asking, "Do you know where Jack is?"

The figure cocked his head, inspecting Cain studiously.

"Ambrose?" The tin man tried again, and the other straightened, as if, suddenly, realizing the name was his. "I have to find Jack. Have you seen him?"

"Ambrose" stared at him a moment longer before nodding his head in a jerky motion and pointing a crooked finger over his shoulder. Cain followed the direction the other man was indicating, searching for a moment before the light of his lantern glinted off of something—a metal pail.

Cain started forward, but "Ambrose" stopped him with a raised hand. The tin man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but the other's intent gaze seemed insistent, so Cain stayed, watching as the look-alike turned and started off into the darkness.

The tin man waited for what seemed like hours, his heart racing at every muffled scream that echoed towards him from the gaping black, every howl of the biting wind that blew over the wall's opening but never passed through to Cain's side. Still, the blond man stayed put, refusing to listen to the whispers that kissed his ears.

"_Run, run as fast as you can_."

Cain clenched his teeth, closing his eyes and shaking his head against the demand. He would not leave, not until he had done what he had promised to do. His eyes snapped open as the murmur of footsteps sounded. They grew louder and louder until a faint outline formed in the distance, and "Ambrose" appeared from the darkness. In his arms he held a small figure, a boy.

The look-alike halted at the opening, carefully transferring the unconscious boy into Cain's awaiting arms. The tin man smiled down at the seemingly untouched child, who looked quite a bit like his sister, then looked up again at the stoic figure. "Thank you." The look-alike nodded once and turned to leave. "Wait!" Cain called, and "Ambrose" stopped, his emotionless face staring at the man blankly. "Come with us."

The other man merely shook his head solemnly, turning once again and disappearing into the black. The tin man frowned but did not stay, turning back to where the young girl awaited the return of her brother. She stood where he had left her, eyes wide and trained on the darkness behind him.

"It's all right, Jilly," he said as he approached her. "Jack's here. He's okay."

"That was the man," the girl whispered, still staring into the darkness as Cain leaned down beside her. "He made the monsters chase us."

Cain glanced back at the wall. "Well, he helped me find Jack, and he's gone now. You don't have to worry."

Jack stirred in his arms, his eyes opening into slits. "Jilly?" He muttered, and the girl turned to him with relieved tears welling in her eyes.

"Jack! Oh, Jack, I thought you were gone! But this man helped me, and you're okay now!" She leaned down and hugged him, placing kisses on his cheek. "I promise, Jack! I'll never leave you again! I promise! I really, really promise!"

Jack smiled exhaustedly, raising a weak arm and wrapping it around his sister. "I know, Jilly. I know." Cain barely had time to relish in the small reunion before something was tugging at his gut.

0 o 0 o 0

Cain opened his eyes with a gasp, finding Raw and Ambrose staring at him with perplexed gazes.

"Cain?" Ambrose asked timidly, the tin man relieved to find the real Ambrose leaning over him and not the look-alike he had seen in the darkness. "Cain, are you all right?"

"Fine," Cain rasped, holding his head as he sat up. He looked around, finding himself on the floor, and frowned. "What happened?"

"Raw tried to connect our minds," the inventor explained, checking Cain's head for injury and pursing his lips at the small lump he found among the man's blond hair. "I felt . . . _something_, but then you passed out on the floor, and the connection was broken."

Cain broke free from Ambrose's coddling, rubbing at the bump himself and wincing at the sharp pain it elicited. "How long was I out?"

"A few moments," the inventor shrugged, and Cain blinked at him.

"Are you sure?"

Ambrose's eyebrows knitted together, and he studied his friend closely. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Cain swallowed the dryness in his throat before nodding. "Yea. It just . . . felt like longer."

The inventor cocked his head, much like the look-alike in Cain's dream had. "Did you see something, Cain?" The tin man looked into Ambrose's eyes, seeing a flash of dark, glassy orbs and shuddering at the thought of the other man's counterpart.

Cain thought for a moment, a smile slowly creeping across his lips as Jilly and Jack came to mind. The two siblings, finally together. Maybe there was a reason he and Ambrose had been drawn to one another. Maybe . . . Maybe that was the _only_ reason. Cain looked back into Ambrose's eyes, only able to picture the distorted version he had encountered in the darkness of the inventor's mind. There was definitely more to Ambrose than he ever wanted to know.

"I'm fine," he lied, ignoring the inventor's skeptical look. "I think we should—"

The door, suddenly, opened, and Jeremiah stumbled in, a look of disbelief on his face. "There's, um," he stammered. "There's people." He gestured wildly behind him. "There's people from the palace."

"From the palace?" Ambrose echoed, standing and helping Cain to his feet.

"They have horses!" Jeremiah exclaimed, as if that was the highlight of the situation. "I-I mean, they're here to take you back to the palace! They have horses . . . to take you back to the palace." He sobered his tone some and cleared his throat, giving a nervous chuckle. "Man, this sure is the most excitement we've had in a while."

0 o 0 o 0

The elation of their arrival back to the palace was exhausting, short-lived, and met with a light drizzle of rain that soon turned into a downpour. Ambrose was whisked away to the infirmary under the insistence of the queen, the inventor protesting all the way but ultimately submitting to her highness's decision.

Cain wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a long nap in a comfortable bed. He, instead, found himself wandering the palace grounds, finding a rather quiet spot in the courtyard. He sat undisturbed for quite a few hours before the silence was broken.

"I had a dream about you last night."

Rain dripped from the brim of Cain's hat as he looked up to find DG staring at him from across the courtyard. She stood beneath a wide, green umbrella, her gray, knee-length dress swaying in the gentle wind. Droplets of water nicked the smooth fabric as the hem breached the safety of the shelter, quickly retreating when the wind faltered and venturing out again to repeat the process.

The tin man was soaked from head to toe, the freezing rain assaulting him mercilessly as he sat motionless on a stone bench beside a particularly bright patch of red carnations. It was amazing how the enchanted garden stayed in bloom even through winter.

"About me?" Cain called, shifting and wincing as stiff muscles stretched against the cold. It was barely a few degrees from snowy weather, but the harsh sleet persisted, stubborn enough to stave off the much-needed relief.

The princess walked the few steps worth of distance between them, making to sit beside him. Cain quickly removed his coat and placed it on the bench at his side, the warm, dry inside facing upward. DG smiled, indulging the man and taking the offered seat. She held the umbrella stick between them so that they were both shielded from the rain, the sound of water droplets pelting against the roof of the small shelter muffled by the fabric. The tin man removed his hat, smiling at her with the gentle admiration that a father would his daughter.

"About you," DG confirmed, "and Ambrose."

Cain immediately averted his gaze, turning his hat in his hands and fingering its rough fabric restlessly. "Oh."

DG's lips thinned into a grim line, her eyebrows drawing together and her normally smooth, pale skin sporting ugly lines of frustration and confusion. "You haven't talked about what happened between you two."

Cain's gaze snapped back to hers. "Has _he_?"

She didn't respond right away, gauging the man's reaction before finally shaking her head. "No. He won't talk either."

The tin man's shoulders slumped, and he let loose a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. He swallowed loudly, unable to turn from the young girl's inquiring eyes. They sparkled with concern, as if she was on the brink of crying. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes of her worry, the sleepless nights she must have spent waiting for any word of her friends.

Cain ground his teeth, asking, "What happened in your dream?"

DG took a moment to recall the specific details. "You left, ran away into the dark. Ambrose was heart-broken. He tried to go after you, but he couldn't remember which way you'd gone. It was like he was Glitch again. He'd remember for a moment, then he would forget again and wander around, hoping he would remember again."

The tin man frowned. "Sounds more like a nightmare."

DG nodded. "Lost and alone in the dark, unable to find the one person you trust more than anyone in the O.Z. . . . the one person you love."

Cain sighed. "That isn't _your_ dream, is it?"

"It's someone's," she shrugged, her feet swinging back and forth and her shoes being splattered by fat raindrops. "He's feeling better, trying to wheedle his way back into his lab."

Cain smirked with a huff. "Sounds about right."

"He's been asking about you."

This statement stole the smirk from the tin man's lips, and he shook his head. "I have to go." He ducked out from beneath DG's umbrella and replaced his hat. The young princess stood as well, returning the man's coat. "Before we . . . disappeared, there was news of Zero's men in the overpass near your mother's ice palace."

"They could be long-gone by now," DG pointed out with disappointment, biting her bottom lip.

Cain pulled the coat over his broad shoulders and adjusted it, shaking the water from it in vain. "I can't take that chance." He leaned down, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek and tipping his hat.

"You'll stay for the ball, at least, right?" DG asked hopefully, but Cain only shook his head.

"I'm afraid I have to leave tonight," he explained, placing a hand on her arm and squeezing it before beginning to walk away. "Have fun at the ball."

DG watched him disappear back into the palace, tears pricking her eyes as she whispered, "But he needs you, Cain. He's lost."

0 o 0 o 0

Cain was packed, the surprisingly light bag slung over his shoulder as he stalked through the palace corridors attempting to make a hasty retreat. He hated to leave without saying goodbye, but he would see everyone again eventually. Perhaps for the holiday that DG had been telling them about – Christmas? Yes, Cain would see them at Christmas, and things would be better, forgiven . . . forgotten.

A rather bright light and the sound of metal crashing against metal brought Cain back from his thoughts, and his head snapped toward the offending sound. Ambrose's lab door was ajar, and a white light was emanating from within. More crashing, and Cain was through the door instantly, strange gadgets and pieces of machinery crunching beneath his boots.

The domed structure that had once been the focal point of the large room lay in dismantled heaps on the raised platform. Sparks flew from several directions, and as the tin man's eyes frantically scanned the lab, he found Ambrose nowhere in sight.

"Ambrose?" He called, dropping his bag at his feet and starting forward. His heart was pounding in his chest, a painful reminder of the emotions that the strange inventor had awoken within him.

Ambrose, suddenly, stood from behind a rather large pile of twisted steel, and Cain's anxiety quelled some, his lungs expelling the air they had held captive in a brief moment of panic. The inventor's eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he spotted the intruder.

"Mister Cain," he said politely, to the great annoyance and disappointment of the tin man. "I was told you were leaving."

Cain cleared his throat, avoiding the other man's eyes. "Duty calls," he replied, knowing the explanation was no more than an excuse to run away. His gaze shifted to the disassembled machine curiously, frowning as he returned to the inventor.

"You destroyed it," he said dumbly, his cheeks tainted with a hint of red as he realized the bluntness of the statement.

Ambrose shrugged half-heartedly, offering the man a slight smile as he descended the stairs and made his way toward his cluttered desk. "You didn't like it," he pointed out quietly, wiping his hands on an oily rag. His back faced towards the tin man, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered.

Cain took a step forward. "But you did."

Ambrose turned on his heels, his face emitting no emotions, and Cain was immediately reminded why Ambrose and Glitch would never be the same person. Glitch couldn't hide his emotions if he tried. His face was a window in and of itself into his thoughts and feelings. Everything came naturally, like breathing, and taking away what made the headcase _their_ headcase would be like taking the very breath from his body. For Ambrose, emotions took effort. Every smile was calculated, forced, and never entirely without some sort of ulterior motive. Cain thought he had seen the inventor's true nature over the past week, the man that Ambrose had been before the witch's reign.

"Why should it matter if I liked it or not?" The adviser asked in a snappish tone. He regretted it immediately, but Cain did not seem at all fazed by the clipped words.

"Because I know you." The tin man replied. Ambrose wanted to scoff, tell the other man he was absurd. But the lie dissolved on his tongue, unable to breach his trembling lips.

Cain leaned down, grasping the handle of his bag and hauling it back up over his shoulder. With a look of disappointment in his eyes, he said, "I've seen the way you look at your inventions." Ambrose sucked in a breath and held it behind clenched teeth. "Even when you couldn't remember whether you'd made them or not, there was always that look—that sense of pride, like deep down you knew those inventions were made by your very hands."

The inventor didn't have a response. What could he say to something like that? What could he say to a man that knew absolutely everything about him and had decided to run away instead of confront him about it? They stared at each other for another brief moment before the tin man turned to leave.

Ambrose didn't stop him.

0 o 0 o 0

DG stood in a very secluded corner, watching dancers twirl around the grand ballroom floor. Her dress was blue, strapless, and fell just below her ankles. Her hair was swept up with beautiful diamond-laced pins and barrettes, two dark, curled strands framing her face. She wore flat shoes, to the morbid disapproval of her mother—but the princess couldn't and wouldn't dance in heels, and that was that. Azkadellia had helped her with her makeup, just enough to make her shimmer and glow but not so much as to make the younger sister uncomfortable.

DG felt beautiful . . . and utterly lonely. It was junior high all over again. She'd stood in a corner then, too, hiding herself from the boys that didn't want to ask her to dance anyway. Only this time, there were boys—no, _men_—looking for her. Everyone wanted to dance with the newest addition to the royal family, and so far, the only people DG had allowed near her were her father, Jeb, and Raw. Cain and Ambrose were still missing.

She sighed as they both came to mind. Cain, of course, would not be there, but there was absolutely no reason for Ambrose to miss out on the sheer boredom of the evening.

0 o 0 o 0

Cain's horse was restless. "Whoa, girl," he murmured, stroking the length of her neck and patting her shoulder. "I know. I don't want to leave either. But it's for the best."

The horse's large, dark eyes stared at him as if pleading. The tin man frowned and shook his head, turning and grabbing another saddle bag. "Don't look at me like that. You know I can't stay, not with—" The horse nuzzled his back between his shoulder blades, nearly knocking him over. He caught himself on the half wall separating the stalls, sighing and turning around with an admonishing look.

"That's not going to keep me from leaving." The horse snorted, bobbing her head up and down and stamping her front hooves impatiently. Cain sighed, lowering his head and swallowing. "He won't forgive me, not this time. I . . . I saw some things . . . Some _bad_ things. I don't know if I can ever forget them."

The horse whinnied, and Cain looked up, finding her staring at him again. There was something about that look that always made the tin man give in. He couldn't quite place it, but somehow she always won these kinds of arguments. He nodded, setting the bag down and starting to unhook her saddle. "One of these days, Abigail, one of these days . . ." The horse snorted as if in disbelief.

0 o 0 o 0

Azkadellia watched with hidden amusement as a tall, brown-haired man led DG onto the dance floor—well, it was more her sister gently guiding the anxious-looking young man, but the younger princess was smiling, and that was all that really mattered. The older princess, herself, had not had many suitors this evening, but the viewer, Raw, Jeb, and her father had kept her more than busy on the dance floor.

"Who is that man with DG?" Azkadellia wondered aloud, leaning toward her father as they watched the two clumsily make their way around the ballroom.

Ahamo studied the young man for a moment before a small smile graced his lips. "Ah. That's one of Mister Cain's new recruits. I think his name is Lynch. Jeremiah Lynch. Cain said something about meeting him on the way back to the palace."

"He's a very handsome boy," the queen added with an approving smile. "He seems very keen on our little DG."

"Mother, she's hardly 'little' anymore," Azkadellia scolded on her sister's behalf.

"She's right," Ahamo agreed, patting his daughter's hand. "But you girls will always be 'little' to us, no matter what."

Azkadellia smiled, feeling almost at home beside her parents and watching her sister and the young man bump into yet another couple and bashfully apologize before giggling and trying to fall into step once again.

0 o 0 o 0

Ambrose's stiff boots clacked harshly against the linoleum floor as he sprinted down the palace corridor. The boots whined and groaned irritatingly with every brief step. His heart was racing, and his lungs were burning from the exertion. Dark tufts of wild, greasy hair bounced as he pushed on, ignoring the aching pain in his side. He must have been quite a sight to passing servants; stained work shirt half-untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, brown vest flapping against his chest unbuttoned, pants tattered and stringy at the bottom hems from scraping along the ground.

The part of him that still reeked of Glitch urged him on: "Faster! Catch him! Don't let him leave! Not without 'goodbye'!"

He nearly fell as the tin man, suddenly, appeared ahead of him, head tilted downward as if he was in deep contemplation. Cain looked up as the inventor began to slow down, his eyebrows raising when Ambrose came to a complete stop mere feet from him. The dark-haired man bent over slightly, his hands gripping his thighs in a desperate attempt to catch his breath and remain standing.

As Ambrose straightened, the room tilted, and he stumbled, Cain having to catch him. "Ambrose? Are you all right?" The tin man's voice conveyed only concern, and the adviser was glad to hear something other than anger there.

"I'm . . . I'm," Ambrose panted, having to take several breaths before trying to speak again. "I'm fine . . . I just . . . I wanted . . ." He coughed and grimaced, and Cain led him towards a nearby balcony, sitting him on the bench outside.

The air was chilly, their breath curling upwards in white misty clouds. The tin man lowered himself to his knees in front of the bench, able to study the other more closely. He placed a hand on the inventor's shoulder, allowing him to gain control of his breathing. Ambrose's chest shuddered with every breath, and he had to close his eyes against the burning pain that the cold air was certainly not helping to assuage.

When the inventor opened his eyes again, Cain was still staring at him anxiously, an unanswered question in his ice-like blues. Ambrose took a steadying breath and held it for a moment before speaking.

"You're leaving because of me, not because of business," he stated matter-of-factly, causing Cain to avert his gaze. The tin man looked almost guilty as he collected his thoughts for a moment, returning his attention back to the adviser.

He shook his head, his eyebrows knitting. "No," he replied firmly, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. "Not anymore."

Ambrose searched the tin man's eyes. "You're staying?" Cain nodded, and the inventor's lips curved into a contemplative frown. "Why?"

Cain expelled a pent-up breath and removed his hat, fingering the brim absently as he did when he was nervous or dreading something to come. "I realized something," he said carefully, thinking each word through before saying it.

When the tin man didn't continue, Ambrose tilted his head. "What?"

Cain met his eyes, then, nothing but a fiery sincerity echoing behind those ice-blues. "We're not finished." Ambrose pursed his lips, trying to understand. "You and me," Cain continued, "we started something. I . . . don't know exactly what," He stopped for a brief moment, searching his mind for the right words that expressed what he was feeling—a hard thing to do for a tin man with no heart, "but I know it's . . . it's something that I don't want to end. Not just yet."

The inventor's wide eyes studied the man in front of him—the man he was possibly head-over-heels in love with and who possibly felt the same way.

A white flake landed on Cain's broad shoulder, and the adviser watched it melt into the fabric of the man's coat before looking up. Several more flakes wafted down from the sky, weaving and swirling their way to the ground. Many landed in the inventor's hair, standing stark against the dark curls and the grease.

"So what do we do?" Ambrose asked as he lowered his gaze back to the tin man, Glitch's innocence lacing his tone as he studied the other apprehensively.

Cain sighed, replacing his hat and looking into the palace towards the ballroom doors. Laughter and an uplifting beat wafted out to the two lone figures, and the tin man smiled, standing and offering the a hand. "Wanna dance?"

A corner of Ambrose's mouth twitched upward as he slipped his fingers into Cain's without hesitation. "I'll lead," he whispered as he was pulled up tight against the tin man's body. "You follow."__

_**AN:**__ The end. The very, very end. Oi! You have no idea how good it is to get this out of my system. It's been tormenting me for months. *sinks into big, fuzzy green chair and takes nap* Finally!!_

_Again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapters!! I hope this is a suitable ending. If it seems a bit rushed, I apologize. Really, I wanted to make it good, but I also just wanted it finished, so I forced my friend to make me sit down and write and not go off topic._

_I really do sort of want to go on and write more about Jack and Jill, but that is for another time and another place. And possibly another fandom. :)_

_Later, Gators! I will catch you all on flip side. :D_


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